Chess Game
by Solard
Summary: A moody AU piece which runs concurrent with the timeline of XFiles canon but details a relationship between Scully and Krycek. Please read and review. Thanks.
1. Chapter 1

**R**emoving her glasses with one fluid movement, she reached with the other hand and tightly pinched the bridge of her nose. The migraine was settling in nicely, now. Draining out of her in tandem her patience and resolve.

"I can't keep doing this," she muttered to no one. As punctuation to her audible thought, a sharp single knock announced the final break in her concentration.

"Agent Scully," the courier curtly delivered, "…arrived for you anonymously." Almost as an afterthought he added, "It's been thoroughly scanned. Clean," and just as quickly as he announced his presence, he was gone.

Deftly, she squeezed open the outer edges of the padded manila mailer, quickly surveying the contents with a practiced eye. She mentally ticked off the contents; wasn't really much to it. Slipping two fingers into the FBI-supervised opening, she withdrew the most conspicuous item contained therein, a single folded sheet of paper.

"If you are reading this, I'm either deep underground or dead.

In any case, I'll never have to face you again. So, I've got nothing

to lose by telling you this:

It's not Mulders; it's mine.

You dropped a bomb on me, a long time ago. It only

seemed fair to return the favor. Watch your back, Dana.

There are others, people we both know, who won't

allow their personal feelings to cloud their judgment the

way I have."

What? What in hell-? What isn't Mulder's? Scully felt a faint, not-yet-to-be-named fear rise up in the pit of her stomach. Looking at the note again- strong, mail oriented print- she knew she recognized the hand.

Alex.

Scully shot up, ran to the toilet and promptly lost her lunch.

**H**e ducked back in the shadows of the dim supply hall, and sharply let out his breath. She got it. A flicker of real emotion –long ago buried – threatened his composure. Alex struggled to push it down. He was anything but a sucker, and far too used to self-denial to let this wayward feeling get the better of him. Thoughts, memories tapped out in rapid staccato in his mind's eye – memories of a brief time in his recent sordid past when _things_ could have gone _differently._ 'If only…' he cut the thought off in midstream. Would do him no good now to feel any regret over the past.

What happened from this point, he couldn't say. Seeing his packet delivered safely was all he cared to stay around for anyway. He didn't allow himself to think 'what if' about the future. "What is, is," he muttered to himself, feigning, as he always did, a self-protecting carelessness. With a terse flip of his wrists he turned up the collar of his coat and spirited out of the quiet building and into the almost deserted street.

A sudden cold breeze assaulted his senses; autumn was upon them. Cold pressed into him, chilling him to the core; he knew it was more than the mild night could produce. Memories best left to the past were threatening his patched together resolve again; he had to find something to Nembutal his senses. "Come on, Alex," he said aloud, "get it together man."

Dana.

Damn, she was something else. Completely independent of his own mind, her name bobbed up to the surface of his thoughts. His heart lurched inside him and he felt his body tense. The same game he'd played a thousand times in the last six years; alternately denying and reveling in a competition of which he wasn't even sure the opposition was fully aware.

If there was one thing he knew, it was that Mulder was a clueless shmuck. How could you work closely with _that_, with _all_ _that_ for _years_ and never once cross the line? Not even _wonder_ to yourself? And yet, in a bloodless, fraternal way, Dana was fully devoted to that … that freak. Or, as he sometimes consoled himself, it was _the job_ Dana was devoted to … not her nut-job partner.

Before he could get a handle on it, a craziness gripped his chest and he ripped his mobile from his inside coat pocket. Pressing the programmed button quickly – before sanity robbed him of the opportunity – he thrust the phone up to his ear.

"Scully," her impatient voice caused a little shock in the pit of his belly (a fire, he thought briefly) and robbed him of words for a split second. "…Alex..?" she half-whispered, the sound of it impossibly sharper than her cursory greeting. He fought the maelstrom in his body – conflicting sensations, at best – and bit out quickly, "D'ya get my package, Dana?" He waited, senses heightened, for that almost inaudible click telling him she would try a trace. It didn't come. Yet.

"What do you _want_, Krycek?" she hissed. "Back to last names, Dana," he almost smiled; he did so like to play the cat and mouse game …with her in particular. "I would have thought our relationship had progressed beyond the need for formality…" he let his voice trail in a manner much more casual than he felt. "…Come on, Dana, say it… say my name..."

"_Alex …_" her voice was silk on his ear, "you must understand the compromising position you put me in…" he heard her sharp intake of breath and her shakily exhaling it… he liked it. It made him … _feel._ "You have to understand, I am in the middle of an investigation…" her voice grew husky, "I'm trying to find my partner, Alex..." He knew. He knew she wouldn't stop until she'd exhausted every avenue. Several times over.

"He was my partner once, too, Dana…" knowing he shouldn't bring up old hurts, old betrayals…still he opened the wound fresh. She was right on top of him, too, "_Your _partner… Your PARTNER!" her anger was building, "Damn, Krycek… you have some Herculean nerve… you traitoring son of b-," she stopped short, showing her hand, trying to recover; he knew he'd pushed her right up to the line, but he couldn't stop himself. Or didn't want to, maybe.

"Save it; I've heard your sob story before," she sounded deflated, and he didn't want to be responsible for the loss, "you 'were at the mercy of those in control, unseen forces' you were 'manipulated by those hiding in the shadows' you would 'either have to kill or be killed'" her pause was savage, "isn't that the script… _ALEX_?" He heard her expectation in her silence, _'say something, Alex, to defend yourself… to make up for the lies, the deceit…'_

"I was a pawn, Dana." This was worse…his admitting weakness to this woman…worse than being the double agent who wantonly risked her life and the life of her partner. He changed his tack; better she loathe him – there was at least passion in that – than disregard him altogether. "I played the game to survive, Dana, and I have. Survived, that is. You can hate me, but never make the mistake of thinking that I didn't mean every word I said to you last month. I did everything in my power to _live_… for the future. For yours and for mine."

"I'm going to find you – hunt you down, you son of a-," he hung up right after he heard the all but imperceptible click of the trace. She would keep her promise. He counted on that.


	2. Chapter 2

**S**cully threw out the rest of the rice she'd been attempting to eat. It was useless. She hadn't been very hungry since that call from Krycek (_…Alex…_) her nerves were beyond flayed at this point. Mulder had been missing for three months and every lead was turning up cold. In seven years they'd helped each other through every trap, pitfall and abduction… But this time she feared their streak was ended.

What she couldn't get past was why. Why? Why had Mulder disappeared, and why was Kry- _Alex…_ insinuating himself stealthily back into her psyche. What game was he running this time? And did she even really want to know the answer to that one? Alex had situated himself between her and Mulder many years ago (between each and every finger…like a glove on a hand) and wreaked such havoc… 'Personally _and_ professionally,' she thought and quickly brushed the thought away. It would do no good for her to rehash her weaknesses, and the gaps in her steely defenses. He'd gotten through, and she knew it, and was forever shamed at the knowledge.

Throughout the years of trails improbable and implausible, Krycek had turned up repeatedly… _'like a bad penny,'_ she thought, and smiled a little. What he'd done to them, turned on them when they thought he was an ally, _a fellow officer…_ She had thought it was unforgivable. Thought she'd never be able to look at him again without spitting in his face, truthfully.

But that isn't what she'd done when they both turned up on Amsterdam. Not what she'd done at all.

_She felt the presence before she heard any sound. Krycek. Slithering out of the shadows the way he always did; his breath in her ear before her reflexes kicked in. "Hello…Dana. I didn't think you'd come… you_ are_ full of surprises, aren't you?" he'd whispered in that harsh, tortured way._

_She'd spun on him and jammed her gun into his ribcage, smiling grimly, "Don't flatter yourself, liar," she'd bit out at him, " I'm not interested in what surprises or delights you." She'd relished the brief stunned look on his face, "just give me the disk, and we can call it a night." He recovered quickly, but then he always did, and a slow smile played at the corners of his mouth, "not so fast, Agent, we have to verify the ground rules, first…" She remembered that it angered her that he knew she wouldn't shoot him; not in cold blood in the middle of the foreign, darkened street. He knew her enough to know that she was a shade too gentle for this game he and Mulder played so effortlessly._

"_Rules? Now _you_ disappoint me – when did you ever follow _rules,_ Krycek?" she knew she was in danger, could _feel_ it in the pit of her stomach. She liked playing this game with him a little _too _much. Knowing that he knew it, too, made her angry. And… intrigued. "Say it, Dana… say my name," he'd whispered…and in spite of the effect the words had on her, she still managed to thrust the gun harder into his ribs. "Alex," she'd said slowly, drawling it out, torturing him with it. His face leaned into hers and he took her lips with a slow heat. She allowed herself to be kissed, leaned into his mouth, stretching over her outstretched gun, both of them lost for a moment… it wasn't the first time, not even one of the first times, that they explored the edge of boundaries this way… and she'd given up excusing it. He was flesh, and so was she. It was, _she'd thought,_ what it was._

_When they'd come to, later, in his cramped hotel room, tangled together in the sheets and guilt and fear and some desperate, indefinable longing… she'd thought irrationally that they could just run away. She had nothing left for her at the bureau_ (Mulder was gone)_ and he was a marked man with a talent for survival. He'd even whispered in her ear during their fevered exploration that he loved her…but she suspected he had long ago forgotten how to even define the word._

"_Stay with me," he'd whispered. He'd been looking at her as she leisurely dressed herself. '_Stay with me,' _his words contorted in her ears as he lay before her, still as death, vulnerable and exposed. It was too much. She'd felt the panic rise up – or was it self-preservation? – and harshly yanked her boots on. "No!" she'd thrust out like a rough handshake, "NO! Have you lost your mind?" His face was inscrutable in the dark room, but she thought she detected a shift in his expression, "Dana… we can start from scratch. We can leave this trap, this maze _they've_ set us in – we had no choices in this -- don't you see?" Then he'd sat up, and reached out for her, grasping her wrist with something not unlike tenderness saying the words that stirred her loathing for him, "Mulder is gone, Dana, and he isn't coming back for you." He crossed the only line that she'd set down for him; Mulder was not a subject that either of them were supposed to broach. Ever._

_She twisted her wrist from his grasp and before he processed what she was doing had her knee in his chest, and the thumb of his right hand jammed backwards, immobilizing him, "Don't contact me again, Alex; this insanity is over!" and without thinking she lowered her lips right above his and kissed him hard on the mouth. She jumped up, leaving him stunned, and exited without a backward glance._

She hadn't seen him since. Or heard from him; until this evening.

**As** he passed by the trash bin, he chucked the cell phone into it; best not to leave any inconvenient links. It was foolish. Foolishness, to lose his composure and _call_ her. Now he would have to acquire a new phone, under _another_ false moniker… a new number he'd have to try to remember. He almost startled himself with a brief gust of mirth – he didn't have anyone to whom a change in number would make any difference, anyway; and he'd gone for so long without his own name that he almost didn't answer to _Alex_ (except when it spilled from _her lips_) anymore… so what did it matter? The irony might have been enough to set his equilibrium aright, if he wasn't tortured with the undeniable desire to see her again.

This game was over – this global espionage that had enfolded them all in a binding, constricting web. Mulder was sacrificed to it; he felt it, more than knew it, that he was gone. As in _gone_ gone. Stripped of this mortal coil. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. But he'd never tell Dana of his suspicions. He feared the knowledge might bring her house of cards down, too, and he wouldn't (_couldn't)_ be the one to sacrifice _her._

He remembered when he infected Skinner with the nano-virus. He'd been carrying out wishes that weren't his own, and so had no stake in it, but he was rendered slightly more capable when he'd erroneously suspected that Dana was _involved_ with the AD. He couldn't accept the thought she'd have _him. _No, he had no issues with sacrifices that must be made, and there was a time when he would have easily taken even_ her_ down. He thought he had once, but that had resulted in the badly executed death of her sister. It had been a long time since he could muster the detachment that would allow him to risk anything involving the person of Dana Scully.

It startled him, at times, the knowledge that he could feel a complicated mix of desire, and frustration …maybe even love. All for this woman who had sworn herself his enemy (more than once) and would never look at him with anything more than anger or lust. He wouldn't have let his guard down so completely with anyone else. He'd never have opened himself to anyone else the way he did to her in Amsterdam.

_He remembered her eyes closed and the deep moan rising from her throat and the utter ecstasy he knew she felt when tangled up with him, and something erupted in his chest moving him beyond control, the words slipping over his lips, _I love you,_ over and over. And after, she was lying in an exhausted and peaceful sleep, her skin glowing almost pearlescent from the ambient light in the room and he felt in spite of the overwhelming odds that they could make something together, something good, something right, in the midst of all the ruin… and he'd asked her, begged her really to go away with him. No – it was _stay _with him, he remembered._

And she'd rejected him outright. Told him it was _over._ "This insanity" she'd called it. He had never _allowed_ himself to think on it, but the memory would always come to him unbidden. And he'd have to shove it to the back of his mind, repeatedly. He'd never had so much trouble handling himself in any other arena; act, react, survive on instinct, don't think too much, stay one step ahead fueled only on adrenalin. But she rendered all his abilities insufficient, and left him in chaos. Truth? She was his only constant, incalculable risk in a life otherwise ordered by danger and fear.

He turned toward the south and headed to his hotel. It was a good thing he blended in with the other unsavory night walkers in this city; if Dana didn't turn him in he wanted no other incident tonight to alert the bureau that Krycek was back in town.

He awoke in a hyper-alert state. Something wasn't right, but his thoughts were still sleep drugged and murky. He looked over at the clock and noticed that the display wasn't lit up, and glanced out the window. The street lamps outside the hotel were dark, too – electricity was out. Breathing out his relief in one heavy gust, he closed his eyes and waited for sleep to reclaim him.

_This insanity… Liar… hunt you down, you son of a-… _His eyes snapped open again. Sleep would elude him, he knew. He strained his mind to hear her voice, to recall every contour of her face… God help him. He couldn't get her out of his mind. He'd die because of her, he knew it. She made him stupid, and careless. But her words – angry words, every time -- were become like drops of water to a man dying of thirst.

He rolled to the edge of the bed and pulled his jeans up over his naked backside, his sweater over his head like a man in a trance. He half knew what he was doing only after he'd already hit the road. Damn the consequences, damn the outcome; he was going to her.

**S**cully woke with a start and immediately looked at the clock. The face of it was a inky as the night. _Huh,_ she thought, _electricity is out. _She rolled back over and tried to will sleep to come, but it remained beyond her reach. In spite of all the hatred she felt for him, Alex – his words, his mouth, his eyes – kept intruding into her consciousness. Lying prone only intensified the effect the thoughts of the man had on her body. Giving in, she pushed herself to the edge of the bed, and slipped into her crumpled work slacks. God help her, he exhausted her. Somewhere inside lurked the idea that if she just gave in, met him head on… they'd …oh, she didn't know. And the thought made her feel disloyal to Mulder, anyway.

She shuffled sleepily into the direction of the kitchen, mindlessly taking all the well-known turns. She got out her battery operated candle warmer, and set a mug of water on it. It would take a while, but it would get the water hot enough to make a tepid tea. She desperately needed something to right her jangled thoughts.

Through the darkness, she sensed rather than heard the slight noise. All of her being became poised and ready, her mind reaching out for the exact location of her gun. Nightstand, top drawer… she'd creep to it, slowly.

Rounding the corner in the hall, just shy of her bedroom door, she was stopped short, "Shhhhhh. Don't make a sound, Dana." She didn't have to see, she knew. She knew when she hung up the phone with him at the bureau office that he would make an attempt at physical contact. She was ready for him (but not in the way she should be) and turned to meet his face with a level gaze. She would try to beat him at his game.

"What took you so long?" she whispered hoarsely. This stopped him in his tracks, and she was pleased to sense his astonishment. She leaned back lightly against the wall, and studied him a moment. She didn't have to be in a hurry with her perusal. He liked the tension, she knew. He looked tired. Her heart gave a little involuntary lurch. He'd been too consumed with thoughts of her to get much sleep. Good.

"You knew I'd come." It was a statement, or a challenge but not a question. He copied her pose and leaned back against the opposing wall. Opponents; _just as it should be_, she thought savagely. "Did you come here to stand there stupidly and just stare at me, or are we going to have it out?" A smile played at the corners of her mouth, but her eyes were dangerous, "or did you come here to take me down in the darkness like you meant to years ago?" He was across the narrow hall and on her in a heartbeat, his hands bracing him on either side of her head, his face inches from hers, "I came," his breathing was suddenly ragged, "because I had _no other choice."_

His lips covered her mouth before she could form a protest and she met him with as much energy as he delivered. Perhaps more.

"Talk to me, Dana… tell me how I can erase the mistakes… tell me how I can …find redemption…" he was virtually panting out his entreaties to her between breaths, "your god… tell me the prayers to pray," his hands embraced her face, "I _need absolution…_" Her arms were around his neck now, pulling him to her. "You play a dangerous game with God, Krycek, I fear for your mortal soul…" she muttered into his hair. She wanted to push him down in the hallway, lay with him right there…

Just as suddenly, he pushed himself away from her, took her hand and led her to her bed, the only place he could have an undeclared part of her that held no anger, no righteous animosity toward him. He pulled her down on top of him, stroking her hair, smothering her mouth and uttering words of pleading, accusing incoherence. "You've completely destroyed me, Dana, completely… I've… I'm … lost… decimated…" He seemed a crazed man loosed in Bedlam. Suddenly he looked into her eyes, his own so clear, and readable, "kill me, or love me, Dana…it's all the same, now…" he expelled his breath sharply and was lost again, "but I can't do _this_ any more."


	3. a gift for the anonymous flamer

A/N: This is for "anon" _my one and only reviewer_ whose startling wit, and exemplary grammar provided me with the astute and incisive advice "_this sucks krychek is a loser waht chances would he have withs scully. bah_!" (sic) Thank you, **anon,** your wit speaks for itself. You can read this chapter and then stop as I'm killing Krycek off in this one, just. for. YOU!

For those of you who are adventuresome, and not afraid to set aside highly cherished personal preferences, and wish to see an aspiring writer challenge themselves with the impossible (what could be more impossible than making Krycek _likeable,_ for most of the fandom) and attempt to undo the unimpeachable (what could be more gratuitous than the dogma that Mulder + Scully equals True Love?) **READ ON**. I resurrect Krycek in the very next chapter. (_wink_ ) Oh, yeah... if anyone cares to give a _constructive_ criticism, that would be nice, too, as I'm aiming for self-improvement, here.

**A**n End to All Things

Alex took his time reading through the local papers to keep at bay unwelcome thoughts. Yet again, he was forced to flee the one person who made him _feel_ safe because, ironically, she was too dangerous. To him … and to herself when she was with him. _Angels dancing on the head of a pin_, he thought, a frown marring his otherwise attractive face. So many conflicting needs and motivations all enclosed within the narrow place of grace the two of them occupied. His face relaxed into an almost smile at his un-characteristically fanciful thoughts. She would smile sardonically and claim "they" had no "place."

He was beginning to suspect that she lied. As much for him as for herself. He'd take it and be glad of the gift; it was likely all he could ever hope to expect.

Whatever he was looking for in the papers eluded his notice; but enemies were always abundant. It paid to be vigilant. Cigarette Smoking Man was gone. Disappeared into the ancient hole from wherever he'd come; the Syndicate was all but destroyed. He didn't really think he had any enemies on the active list, unless you counted Mulder, and no one had heard from him in six months. Still, he would always and forever be pitted against Scully's brooding partner. They were two sides of one coin; he, Krycek, the dark, and Mulder the light. If the various and sundry elements that combined to form Mulder could be referred to as "light."

Alex knew to his core that he'd never compare, or measure up to Mulder's irresistible mystery amalgam of absenteeism and remembered charm in Dana's mind. As much energy as he expended on proving to her that he was devoted to one unerring cause – that of pleasing her – she expended on keeping vigil for his fallen mirror image. The perfect one.

And speak of the devil. Before Krycek had time enough to simply lay down his newspaper, Mulder was on him – throwing him to the ground with the lightening bolt strength of his right arm (it only took _one_, after all) and shoved the gun he held in his left hand (not even his primary shooting arm!) into Krycek's shocked face with a precision heretofore unknown, while shouting to the gathering darkness into which he would momentarily send the thieving, lying, double-crossing rat-fink Krycek, "This is for SCULLY's spoiled honor!" and then, blessed, inky, mirror-of-his-soul darkness met Krycek, like the sages of ages past had always foretold, and Mulder executed with a delicious sexiness in his pouty, sensuous lips.

Mulder straightened up, his gorgeous hazel eyes dancing and smirked to no one (now that Krycek lay bleeding and dead at his feet) "Ahhhh. Now THAT? Was worth coming back from the dead for."

The End.

AN: I just want to clear up, that I adored Mulder for years (and still do) -- he was my secret TV boyfriend, and I didn't ever want him with Scully -- theirs was _supposed_ to be always and forever a UST. This site is FULL of stories of Mulder and Scully and their tortured love. It's been done, done, and done -- and by many very, very well -- it's not a challenge or interesting to rehash what someone else has told a bazillion times. For me, the whole XFiles narrative went down hill as soon as Duchovny walked. And in my little corner of the -verse, after season 7, the XFiles went dark. So, you know, the characters and what I do with them in fiction is just that... FICTION. I don't mean to offend anyone, certainly, and I'm only following the advice of the esteemed moderators of this site:

3) Avoid the lemming syndrome. Weave your own Odyssey and avoid being caught up in the latest writing fashion. There are no shortcuts to effective fiction, only fundamentals which have not changed since the beginning of time.

4) Keep it light and have fun. Write at your leisure and not at other's demand. (you can find that in the FAQ, under Misc.)


	4. Begin at the Beginning

AN: Okay, now that I got the nonsense out of my system, this is the continuation of my "real" story – the _real_ Chapter 3.

**Начните вначале**

_Sometime before Piper Maru; Xfiles are temporarily closed; Scully and Mulder are split up and assigned to 'scut' work._

**T**he wire extending down to Scully's wrist slipped a little; shaking her jacket sleeve back away, she grasped the tiny mic and pulled down. 'Better test this thing,' she thought, "Wallace, do you copy?" she whispered quietly, but got no response. She shook her sleeve back again, tapping at the mic lightly with the butt of her gun. "Wallace – I think I'm having trouble with my wire – do you copy?" she whispered, but still no sound returned in her ear.

"Damn," she uttered quietly; she couldn't manage to move around a lot as she was currently wedged in between a concrete pillar and the outer support wall of the inconspicuous office building. A little niggling concern began to nip at the back of her mind. The intel had been right on the money, and she knew her mark was cornered. But still, he'd slipped through their fingers before. If she wasn't absolutely vigilant, he'd likely do it again.

The late hour didn't help; most of the employees had gone so she had abandoned the idea that she could blend into the exiting employees. There simply weren't any. A few cars in the lot, and dim, after hours light in the lobby were all the evidence of activity anywhere. If their mark made his appearance, he'd spot her before she had a chance to get the drop on him. Add to this her beginning suspicion that they'd been sent on a wild goose chase and it left Scully in a foul mood.

And now her wire didn't appear to be working.

She scanned the perimeter within her range of vision, debating whether or not to abandon her post, when out of the corner of her eye she caught movement in the hedges along the property line. Hunkering down deeper into the shadows, Scully turned her full attention to the dark figure moving cautiously through the shadows. The figure moved closer – he would be within shooting range in moments – and Scully braced herself for the inevitable confrontation.

She nervously licked her lips trying to think of which way to proceed. Facing the unknown, Scully determined to go for the element of surprise. She raised her gun and braced her aim with her comm'd arm, exhaled slowly and pulled the hammer back with her thumb. The sound had an immediate effect on her opponent; the figure froze in the shadows directly opposite her position in the corridor. "Why don't you drop your weapon," she hissed in a voice calculated to sound much more lethal than she felt.

"I'll take that under advisement," the cool, familiar voice whispered back, but the figure made no change in his position; not even a twitch. "Mulder let you out to play, eh, Agent Scully?" the tone was mocking, and it drove Scully's mood downward. She recognized that smirk emanating through the voice, even in the dark.

Perfect. Krycek. "I thought you were dead," she spat out to the direction of his voice. It was growing darker; in about fifteen minutes, the night would be pitch. "Uh-uh," his voice as still and dark as the night surrounding them, "I'll be around long after you, Agent." it was ominous, threatening. She shot back, "I doubt it; you have too many enemies," and heard his hammer click.

Silence enveloped them, neither willing to move or speak. Scully felt a cramp developing in her right side and shifted slightly. Krycek moved not a muscle. A bead of sweat trickled down the center of her back; she was unnerved. Since finding out that Krycek possibly had something to do with her abduction, she'd never been able to quite forget his seemingly trustworthy face. How could someone who seemed so… well, almost _inept_ be the total machine that she was increasingly suspecting him to be?

She lifted up her booted foot, and scraped it across the back of her calf. How could he hold position so long? It was inhuman. The thought struck through her consciousness that perhaps Krycek _was_ inhuman. As in _alien_. She pushed it out of her mind. He wasn't alien; with his greed and double-crossing and thieving, Krycek was altogether too human.

**H**e knew she wasn't capable of making his shape out in the complete darkness, and he had one objective to which she was providing the singular obstacle. He had to get that disk. Slowly, painstakingly, he began to drop into a low crouch and make his way up the corridor; he'd scale to her side of the wide space and come up behind her. Then it was simply a matter of disarming her, and putting her out of commission. He let his breath out silently, and began to make his move.

**S**cully felt an overwhelming compulsion to _move_; her legs were cramping, and the sweat made rivulets down her shoulders and her temples. She stood fast, however, more out of stubbornness than any training she'd received. Her older brother had always said she was the best at hide and go seek, because she'd sooner fall asleep standing up in her hiding place than come into the clear, and _surrender_ her position. Suppressing a desire to slump to the floor and wipe the sweat off her forehead, she made a minute adjustment to her position.

Just as she sensed that something across the corridor had changed, she felt a hand snake up around behind her head, and a gloved hand clamp down over her mouth. "Shhh, Scully, shhhhh," he breathed quietly, "Not one sound, Agent." She felt him begin to pull her over and herself about to lose balance; before any cogent thought could form, her heavy booted foot came up and smashed back, searching for his kneecap. She connected, and the sound was sickening. She whirled around and brought her gun up and felt the barrel of his shoved directly into her solar plexus. "Drop it, Agent. I don't want to kill you," his breath was coming in gasps. "But you will, if I drop my weapon, Krycek," she struggled, "so, no."

He let out an involuntary groan, almost a grunt, and Scully knew she'd connected somewhere devastating with her heavy steel-toed boot. "You're hurt; I can tell," she tried, "drop your weapon and I can help you."

"I'm not crazy, Scully," his breathing labored, "you'd kill me as quickly as Mulder would. You and I both know it." He let out another involuntary shudder.

"I'm an agent of the law, Krycek," she steadied her voice, "and a doctor; I wouldn't violate my oaths," she released the hammer slowly, letting him hear, "to uphold the law, and to 'first do no harm.'"

Shit. He didn't think she'd broken anything that he couldn't limp on, but it would be rough going if he tried to complete his mission. Maybe she'd even beat him to the disk; he had no doubt that she was here for the same piece to the puzzle. He slowly released the hammer on his own weapon, snapped on the safety and shoved it into the back of his black jeans. He felt lucky. Perhaps it was the pain talking, but he knew he could trust her not to kill him. Whether or not she'd cold-cock him and leave him to rot… well, he'd take the chance. His leg was excruciating, and she _was _a doctor.

Scully relaxed when she heard him stash his weapon; she pocketed her own, and crouched down low enough to make out his features in the dim light. "Where did I make contact?" she asked in a perfunctory manner. 'All business' thought Krycek and gestured wordlessly to just below his knee cap. Scully palpated the injury, and when her hand applied gentle pressure to his _tibialis anterior_, she heard his sharp intake of breath. "Can you stand up?" she asked. "Yeah, yeah," but he knew he sounded green, and when he pushed up from the floor his head felt light, and he sank back down to the ground. "Uh, no," he almost gasped, "give me a minute."

"I would guess, if it's causing you nausea trying to stand," and she paused, "well, it might be broken," she finished without ceremony. "No, no," he wasn't about to let this woman, his adversary, see him sweat, "I can get up," he pushed up once again, this time standing to his full height. "I'm putting pressure on it and it's-," but he staggered to the bushes and promptly threw up.

Scully made a move toward him, but he had his gun pulled and pointed at her before she closed half the distance. "That's far enough, Agent," he leaned over, retched again, then stood and wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. All without lowering his trigger hand. In spite of herself, Scully was impressed. This was no ordinary racketeer. She surmised he was probably special ops trained.

"Scully, I suspect," he paused and ordered his breathing, "you came for the same thing I did," he lowered his gun and looked up at her through hooded eyes, "and I can't let you get it." 'But I don't want to shoot you for it, either,' the thought came unbidden. He leaned against the pillar, studying her for a moment. "Push on my leg – see if the bone is broken," he said it almost respectfully. Scully bent her head wordlessly, untied the knot in her bandanna, twisted it, and handed it to him, "here, bite down on this" she didn't look up into his face, "you'll need it," she finished.

Gingerly, she began to palpate in the same area, but he leaned forward and grabbed her hands roughly, "Don't be so tentative--," he groaned, "I _like it _rough." He tried for a smirk, but only managed a grimace. He was feeling the effects of his injury, and the resultant natural endorphins kicking in; he knew this meant he'd either be able to make it through the mission on adrenalin, or pass out mercifully. He was in too much pain to feel her wrapping her coat around his leg, just above his knee. She was talking softly to him, soothing nothings doctors say while examining patients. Suddenly, he felt a gut lurching jolt to his knee and bit down _hard_ on the twisted cloth. He couldn't let himself cry out; might attract unwanted… attention. He leaned over quickly and retched again.

Scully got back to her feet and looked at him levelly, "your knee was dislocated; I put it back into place," reaching up, she removed the bandanna and dropped it on his chest, "it needs ice, Krycek." Scully glanced around… she had to get him out of here and find some ice. She didn't figure Krycek would want a hospital. "Can you stand yet?" she queried, "I can support your weight," she said, not unkindly, "but you've got to walk as best you can."

For a minute, her voice was blurring in and out; he had to shake his head to clear his senses. He looked at her a moment, and it all started coming back to him, "You," he muttered, "you kicked me." He groped around for his weapon, this was an adversary, and he had to defend… him… no wait, she had _fixed _him… Now it was coming back clearly… she had _both_ kicked _and_ fixed him. "You're much more powerful than you look, Agent," he grunted between gasps of air.

She studied him a moment, and shook her head. "Yeah, well," she quipped, "you know what they say about red-heads…" She bent down and leaned her shoulder into him for support; he brought his arm up and over her shoulders, and they struggled upwards to their feet. His boots made scuffling noises against the concrete, and Scully strained beneath his weight. "Come on, Krycek," she huffed, "pull yer damn weight." He resisted and pulled the opposite way, toward the elevator, "Agent," he struggled, "I have my orders; and I know yours are the same," he studied her a moment, "why don't we go for the disk, and ride this out… see who ends up with it."

She looked at him, and her face was flint, "Because, Krycek," she paused, positioning her face into his smirk, "I've already achieved _my _objective," she cocked an eyebrow, "I was sent here to sabotage and … apprehend _you_."

AN: As you may have suspected, this goes back in time. I presented you an implausible romantic relationship between Scully and Krycek in the first chapter; now I need to take you back and see how it all started. I hope you enjoy. Leave a little constructive criticism, if you will?


	5. What Fresh Hell

новый ад

Krycek sat biding his time in the sterile, rectangular room at the Fibbie building in Alexandria. His arms, cuffed around and behind the chair, were long past uncomfortable and thoroughly numb. He glanced quickly at the window, which he knew to be two way, certain she was standing on the other side. Oh, she'd been one cool customer; during the tense stand-off, while relocating his knee, and on the car ride that brought them to the airport. She'd thrown his vest over his cuffed hands, a precaution that fooled no one, if the darting eyes of the other passengers at the terminal told him anything. She ignored them and maintained an aura of complete authority and control the entire time.

A memory shot through his consciousness; his advice to Cancer Man about her, so long ago. Scully was "more of a problem" than they'd realized. He was appreciative that she'd proved him right, in the long run. It rewarded his ego to find a person he'd actually judged correctly.

He'd give anything for a cigarette. Or a Moskovskaya. He normally didn't smoke but in his current circumstance, if they offered a smoke, he'd take it; might get at least one of his hands free. He circled his head a couple of times, to give himself a little stretch, and breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly. The only sound he'd heard for (he guessed) over an hour was his own breathing. He'd be glad of anyone at this point just to break the monotony. Even Mulder would be a welcome change.

The stillness was broken with the sound of key scraping lock, and Krycek plastered his face with an implacable stare, awaiting the revelation of his visitor. The heavy door _snicked_ open, and the agent who'd been driving when Scully apprehended him poked his head in. "You smoke?" he asked politely, and Krycek nodded in the affirmative. Pay dirt. "Morley's okay? We've got Reds or Lights…?" the agent waited expectantly. "Reds, thanks," he answered. The agent straightened and tossed a pack of Morley Reds onto the table. "Uh--," Krycek halted him, and he turned around. The agent looked blankly at Krycek for a split second, took in Krycek's head nod to his back, and realization dawned. "Oh, huh… guess you can't smoke it, with your hands cuffed. Wait…" and the door shut behind him.

"Sorry about that," he returned shortly, "didn't think about the cuffs," the green agent chuckled a little, uncomfortable. He knew about Krycek. They _all_ knew about Krycek. It made him nervous to be in the same room with the notorious turn-coat, assassin for hire, government secrets thief… and whatever else unsavory adjectives applied to the dark figure sitting passive before him.

Krycek just stared at the young agent. "You could unlock one of my hands; keep the other safely secured to the slat on the chair…" Krycek said smoothly, "make it easier for me to have one of those Red's," he almost drawled. The agent gave an involuntary glance at the double-sided window, chewing his lip, and eyes shifting as he tried to figure out what he should do.

From the other side of the mirror Scully willed him silently to go ahead. Krycek wouldn't be able to get out of the building, anyway; and the most Wallace had to fear was getting a little roughed up before the officers behind the window would instantly enter the room and help "subdue" Krycek.

"Well, okay… yeah, sure, sure," and the young agent stepped out quickly. He came back in shortly and cautiously went around behind the chair. He worked at the lock on the cuffs, and for the briefest of moments the gathered cabal of agents collectively held their breath. Pins might drop and would be perfectly detected in the small observation room. Scully noticed Krycek's right hand move up to the table, uncoordinated and slow. 'His arms are asleep,' she thought, 'good … it would slow him down.' The tension in the obs room released measurably.

Krycek picked up the pack and uncomfortably shook a cigarette free; his hand feeling the freshly unrestricted blood pour back in, prickling his skin. He raised his eyebrows in question to the young agent as he pointed the unlit cigarette in the agents direction. "Ah …yeah," Wallace again smiled sheepishly, "a light," pulled this from his breast pocket, "voila!" and held the flame up to the cigarette puckered at the corner of Krycek's mouth.

'_This guy is either very, very good_,' Krycek mused, '_or very, very green_.' A memory flashed in his mind, a memory of another young, green Fibbie, and he had to stifle a little sardonic chuckle in a cough. He'd been greener than this guy, when he'd entered the bureau. The memory made him bitter and he bit down on the feeling, clamping it tight and keeping it at the forefront. He'd need that bitterness to fuel the adrenalin rush he'd need to get himself out of this one.

Wallace cleared his throat, and looked balefully at Krycek. He sat there in perfect silence, sucking on the cigarette slowly, as if he were a man with no worries. It unnerved him. "Uh, Mister--," he glanced down at his Fibbie-issued notebook, "Krycek? Is it?" and glanced up briefly into that inscrutable face, "you were caught in a highly sensitive area, sir," the agent faltered just a little… Krycek picked up on it, the agent's discomfort, and absorbed the feeling… allowed it to strengthen his own resolve. He never broke his gaze at the young agent's face. "Uh, and …uh, according to Agent Scully, you engaged her in threatening behavior, and she was uh," he looked up quickly and just as quickly looked back down, "she was forced to uh… incapacitate you…?"

Where'd they _get_ this guy, the Navy? Krycek glanced up at the two-way, willing his eyes to target the unseen Scully whom he knew to be behind there, somewhere, "That seems to be the sum of our…altercation… Agent" his eyes still locked on the two-way. He wasn't speaking to Wallace. "And she then, uh," quick glance back down at notes, "then she uh, reset your knee…? And uh, escorted you to the surveillance vehicle," his voice cracked a little, "wherein you heard your rights, and were conveyed to the airport?"

Still looking right at the two-way, Krycek said quietly, "Yep. That's what happened."

He didn't know if he had her in his sights, couldn't tell, but he kept his eyes locked there, willing her to pick up on his silent summons. If he was going to get out of here, he needed a bargaining chip… and he quickly figured the chip could only be Agent Scully.

Scully looked at the mirror dispassionately. She knew Krycek was stalling the inexperienced agent, and trying to play mind games with her. She wasn't really worried; she'd dealt with Krycek before, and had a bead on his kind: a self-preservationist if ever there were one. '_He's looking for an escape hatch…_' and she knew he wouldn't give up any information to Wallace; the agent couldn't fake enough cool.

"So…so, what exactly were you _doing_ at that facility," Wallace continued, "a secured facility, full of classified materials…" He cleared his throat, and continued, "I mean, you're sort of a… uh…" he searched for the word, "_persona non grata_ with the FBI, aren't you Mr. Krycek?" Krycek glowered at him but then his face grew pensive, "You could say that, agent. You could say that." He didn't, however, answer the question.

"Well, Mr. Krycek, your contrition is refreshing," Scully's voice broke over the intercom, "…but you still didn't answer Agent Wallace's question," she finished. Krycek looked up sharply and she detected a change in his face. Game on. "Sir," she turned toward her Section Chief, "I'd like the opportunity to take a crack at him, if I may?" The older man scrutinized her face for a moment, before answering slowly, "Agent? You were in a pretty tight spot with this one, and you handled it…," "But?" Scully interrupted. "Nothing, agent," he shook his head, "You proved yourself adequate; give it a try." She opened the door to the small room, "And agent," He moved between her and the doorframe, "I'll be in my office." He looked over at Stinson and Grimes, "Continue surveillance in my absence; he so much as looks at her cross-eyed, take him down." With that, he gave Scully a fatherly nod, and headed down the hall.

Agent Wallace continued his tentative questioning, but Krycek was trained on the door. He knew when he heard Scully's voice from the obs room that it would only be a matter of moments before… His thought broke at the sound of keys in lock, door handle turning, soft _shwick_ of it on the floor, and Scully appeared. In spite of himself, Krycek relaxed back into his chair. "Agent Wallace, a word, please?" Scully gestured with her head toward the far corner of the room; the young agent obediently followed her. '_Mary had a little lamb_,' Krycek thought.

Scully bent her head inwards, conspiratorially, "Agent, I've had some prior experience with this individual," she said reassuringly, "would you mind if I gave it a try?" she smiled, "if you could use a turn in the obs room…" Wallace involuntarily relaxed. The thought of being in the room with that guy was giving him the willies. He hated leaving his partner in there with him, though, but she seemed unconcerned. "Alright," he said reluctantly, "but I'll be right there… you know, ready…if anything…" She shook her head and followed him to the door, closing it with a little _click_.

Without turning around, Scully inquired after his comfort. Krycek answered that he was 'as good as could be expected.' Scully turned around, nonchalantly; she wanted to give him the impression that she was complacent. In control. "Good, good," she said vaguely. "I hope the Norco is working…keeping you free from pain?" she cocked an eyebrow. He nodded in the affirmative, "it's fortunate that you're a doctor, Agent," he said quietly.

"There anything else we could get you?" that eyebrow still arched, "You're not charged with anything yet…" she studied him closely. "Agent Scully," he said in mock astonishment, "you didn't file a report on, what's the term … 'assault on a Federal Agent'" he quoted. She gave a tight, mirthless laugh, "I think the report would be more accurate if it read, 'Assault on a Rat Fink Double agent'" her mouth quirked, "don't you agree, Krycek?" In defiance of his strictly maintained control, his mouth twisted up at the corners, "Touche Scully, touché," he reached down and rubbed his sore leg. "You gave me something to reflect on, Agent," his smile lingered, not quite reaching his eyes.

She leaned her shoulder into the two-way wall, facing him, off-center just enough to allow a clear view to the agents in the other room. "I suppose I should ask just what it was that interested you in at the research facility…?" she looked at him levelly. He looked squarely back, "Ah Scully, I appreciate your calm demeanor, and getting right to the point," he smiled, "but that information is not at my disposal." Scully scrutinized him, "Krycek, I think you have much more at your disposal than you ever let on," her eyes narrowed, "I think, as a matter of fact, that you hold some cards in your hand at which I'd very much like to take a look."

Krycek shifted in his chair, there was something happening behind her eyes; it got his attention. "Just what do you think you'd find in my hand, Scully," he said with feigned carelessness, "photos of aliens," he mocked her now, "little green men, flying silver disks photo-shopped onto hazy backgrounds…?" he was toying with her now, "An 'I Want to Believe' poster above my desk…?" Scully moved forward and placed her hands deliberately on the table in front of him, looking straight into his face. Krycek noticed that she was blocking the view of the agents behind the two-way; did she do it on purpose?

When she finally spoke her voice was low, and threatening, "Krycek, understand me. I know what you were after in that facility," she carefully measured her words, "and I know why." her mouth turned up a little at the corners. She pulled back and folded her arms across her (was she trying to keep from smacking him?) and looked at him. "The agency discovered some interesting evidence a while back," she casually looked out the barred window, "perhaps you're familiar with the news that a car exploded in front of a convenience store…?" she looked back, waiting for his reaction.

He made his face impassive. "Yeah… pretty extensive damage, Krycek," she continued, looked back out the window, "someone intended to _remove_ some unlucky person out of the picture…_completely_," her eyes rolled toward him, "wouldn't you say?" The mention of Cancer Man's attempt to discard him, almost tipped his reserve, but he willed himself to slow his breathing and remain in control. Scully looked him full in the face and said, "You're chips are down, Krycek," she smiled, "…might be a good time to fold," She was mocking him now, and he found that it helped him focus.

"Oh, I don't know… I don't think I'm outta the game, yet, Agent," he managed in a slightly bored voice. But his mouth was dry. What he wouldn't give for a drink. Preferably something strong, cold and that burned on the way down. His thoughts were broken by her movement to the door, "Hang on a moment," she said, "I'm going to get a water…" almost as an after thought, she stopped, asked "can I get you anything?" He looked up at her, "Well, if you're offering, how 'bout you bring me back my Sig and the key to these cuffs and you and I go to the Hole in the Wall and see who can handle their liquor better?" he winked at her. She was not amused. "Hey, you offered," he grinned to her back.

Scully entered the obs room and picked up the phone. She punched 'pound' 5, 7, 3 and waited. "Sir, I have an idea. May I get creative in there?" she paused, "I'm wired and have a small recorder attached," she checked the two-way; Krycek looked bored, "I want him to _see _me turn off the intercom" she listened, "Yes, sir – I think I can get more out of him if he thinks I might be compromised because of my," she hesitated, "my abduction." She glanced back at the other agents, "I will let them know," her eyes found the two-way; startled, she saw Krycek stared right back at her. '_How in hell does he know_?' she thought. Instinctively, she felt for the small recording device tucked under her vest, "Yes, sir; every precaution, sir," she held Krycek's eye through the two-way, "You have my word," and hung up with a small shudder. She hastily grabbed two waters from the small fridge, and checked that her recorder was turned on.

"Here you go," she tossed the water at him, and quick-like, Krycek's free arm shot up and caught it. They looked at each other for a beat and Scully murmured, "Nice catch." He snickered, "Why thanks, Scully; didn't know you cared." She made a small chuff in the back of her throat, "don't flatter yourself." Her mind was working now, he could see it in her posture; what game, what game? Whatever it was, he'd just have to try and manipulate it to his advantage. '_Stay on your toes, Alex, my boy_,' he warned himself.

She dipped right in, "How much do you know about this person, this Smoking Man, Krycek?" She stared innocently enough, but he couldn't quite bring his eyes up to hers. '_You mean the man who ordered me to facilitate your abduction Agent Scully?_' he thought. '_The guy who pulled the strings that ended in your sister's murder, Agent? The one who ordered me to push Bill Mulder to take his own life? The very man that used me, used my loyalty, and my desire to make a difference against me? The man himself, who tried to stamp me out of existence when I no longer served his purpose?_' he felt his pulse begin to race with each thought. "I'm waiting, Krycek," she said, levelly.

He was about to lose his composure. "I know enough to refuse to _go on the record_, especially at a government facility." He swallowed hard. No one could break his façade as well as that cigarette smoking sonufabitch. Except maybe for Mulder. She regarded him coolly, "Does he get under your skin, Krycek?" her eyes hardened, "_because he certainly gets under mine,_" her hoarse whisper belied the candor of her words. She stepped forward suddenly and Krycek had to suppress a flinch, but she simply placed her hands on the edge of the table. They shook a little. He noted with increased interest that she seemed to have pushed the button on the underside of the table to the intercom, shutting off sound into the obs room. He looked up into her knowing eyes; she'd done it intentionally. The game just took a very interesting twist.

"What are you playing at, Agent," he whispered slowly. She bent down low, "There wasn't much you were going to say with Frick and Frack behind that mirror," she gestured with her head, "now was there, Alex… May I call you 'Alex'?" she said laconically. "Why sure, Agent… Scully," he finished lamely. What _was _her first name, anyway. "You can call me Dana," she looked at him with meaning, "this is just between you …and me… and we might as well be on first name basis, right?" Where was she going with this? This was … uncomfortable. He didn't know much about Mulder's partner, except that she didn't have much use for _him_, but he'd always suspected there was much more craft going on behind her cool façade than anyone gave credit to. "The other agents will maintain distance, unless I beckon them, but we still don't have much time," she looked intensely at him, "I know it was you, Krycek, I know you helped them take me, and I know you disappeared because you'd lost Mulder's trust."

She glanced over her shoulder at the barred window, "but I also know you didn't kill my sister," she looked back at him, "though you were almost certainly _present_; I know that you probably killed Bill Mulder, although I, likewise, cannot prove that." She turned away abruptly and leaned her head against the wall, her voice softened, "but I also suspect that you are a hunted man, Alex. That your coin of the realm has diminished significantly, and that you are desperate to stay alive through any means." Scully almost laughed. She was embellishing recklessly, piecing together with figments the bits and drabs of information she and Mulder actually had on him. She turned to face him again, "I know what you were after in that research facility: proof. Proof of his doings that would buy you a freedom you haven't had in a long while, Alex," she exhaled slowly… "and I intend to help you."

This pulled him up sharply. He clumsily raised himself up from the chair with his free arm and looked directly at her, "You are playing a dangerous game, Scully, and I can't trust you. You hate me," he dropped his eyes, "as I expect you should," he looked back up at her, "what reason would you have to assist me?"

She looked squarely into his eyes, "Same as you, I suspect," and she straightened a little, so that they were at eye level, "the truth." He regarded her a moment, gauging the expression in her eyes. She didn't waver or flinch, not even for a moment. He let out a tired breath, the first show of any weakness, "I'm not sure you want the whole truth, Dana," he said softly, "I know more than I care to know," he looked down at the table, "and I've sold my soul to the devil for it."

_end, chapter 4_

AN: _As is alluded to in my new summary, this story has been jiggering around in the back of my mind for years. I don't know if it's my naturally sanguine and forgiving nature, or that Nick Lea is so damn good-looking that he makes me want to pet Krycek, but for whatever reason, I always felt that Krycek was a character who was ripe (get your mind out of the gutter) for redemption. It bolsters my confidence to know that it was exactly Lea's intention to play him as a morally confused and misdirected sort of fellow who wasn't eeeevilll to the core, as that weighs heavily in favor of the fact that I am right; that Krycek may have been a rat fink, but one who deserved his shot at redemption, too._

_Give it a try, and stick with it – 'cause I know you're out there reading (**it's in my stats, people**) but it would be nice to get some constructive criticism, too. However, I won't beg; like Krycek, I'm confident in my own head space, and willing to take the isolation that might entail. And you never know – it might be satisfying in the end. Even to the die-hard MSR proponents._


	6. Arranged Without My Consent

Аранжировано без моего согласия

"This'll never work, Scully," Alex breathed tensely; "you'll never make it past the security detail--." He stopped short and ducked his head down, "_Scully_." He hissed close to her face, "they.will.stop.you." he bit out each word in a quick staccato. "Relax, Alex; they _trust_ me –," fixing him with a hard look, "you don't know much about that, do you Alex? Trust?" Her eyes, however, belied her nervousness.

Scully began to grab his unshackled wrist, but he stopped her, "Wait – just, wait…" he was actually looking _caged_ for the first time since she'd taken him into custody that night. "Okay, quickly, run down what it is you intend to do, here," he glanced back up at the two-way, "…to make sure we are on the same page." Pretending anger for the benefit of the agents on the other side of the glass, Scully pushed away from Krycek's wrist.

She let out a frustrated breath for good measure and glanced an eye roll at the unseen agents before turning back around, "Okay, I'm going to make a show of calling someone," she nodded her head slightly at the two-way, "they'll assume I'm contacting Mulder…or Skinner," her mind was spinning and the words were having trouble catching up, "then, we'll – uh, _I_ will take the cuff off the chair, and uh," she began pacing the room, "I'll secure both your hands – don't put up a fight, Alex," she warned him, "this is just for show. I will pull you to your feet," she looked back at him with a warning, "don't waste time, seriously – just do it, just…uh, get up, follow me to the door."

She turned toward him and sat on the edge of the table, "the agents will, well, one of the agents will enter and inquire, and I'll tell him I called…," she stopped and looked up at the fluorescent fixture, "no, wait – they'll call to confirm…" He fidgeted, this was sounding worse than Keystone Kops, "Dana, you can't be--," she put up a hand to stop him, "Just…wait; give me a sec.'" Scully pushed off the table and began pacing again.

Krycek fixed his face with a bored look and muttered, "I got an idea --," out of the corner of his eye he saw her barely perceptible nod, "okay, I'm not charged with anything officially… so you can still get me outta here on your own," his eyes flicked at the two-way, "you say you got a call from Skinner, he's north of town, at a warehouse on Georgia," he looked at Scully, "Say he needs me to identify a, uh … a body."

Scully looked at him sharply, "Krycek?" she said slowly, "what the hell do you mean, 'a body'?" She heard his breathing increase, "uh-uh-uh, Scully," his eyes glittered, "Don't ask, don't tell." Shit. What in the hell _was_ she getting herself into here? "Relax," his voice broke into her thoughts, "there's nobody that can identify this guy," he looked out the window, "_if there's anything left to identify,"_ he finished under his breath. Scully didn't hear him.

They both sat there in disturbed silence, each pacing through the hastily patched together plan. Scully broke the silence first, "Okay, once we are clear and in my car," she looked at him, "what then?" He snorted, "We fly by the seat of our pants at that point, Agent." He knew this scheme would put her in a world of hurt, especially if the AD found out she aided and abetted his escape. Or worse; Mulder. Then again, it was always nice to leave that one a little worse for wear. Krycek fixed a mental picture of an enraged Fox Mulder firmly in his mind's eye; he considered it fuel for the journey.

What perplexed him, though, was why in the world was Scully not only offering no resistance, but actually _providing assistance_? He would have to chew on it some more, once they got shut of this building crawling with suits. Whatever it was, it couldn't be for his benefit. Of that he was most sure. "Okay," Scully's voice broke into his thoughts, "let's do it."

Scully paced back over towards Krycek and bent down low into his face, she whispered, "don't blow this, Alex," almost shrinking at the look on Krycek's face. She then stood up and pulled her cell from her pocket. "Scully," she answered in the customary way, "Yes, sir," she looked back at the two-way and shot an impromptu thumbs up at the smoky glass, "I've been interrogating him, sir-," glancing at Krycek, she wrinkled her nose at him in a sarcastic grin. He smiled inwardly; in another time and place, she might have been fun. Might. He shook an image of her laughing from his mind. It made him feel oddly wistful. He didn't like the feeling. "Yes, sir," she finished, "right away, sir," and hung up the pretend call.

She crossed the room and reached again for his shackled wrist; in a moment of utter clarity, Krycek grabbed her arm with his free hand, "Scully," he whispered, "if anything goes wrong, you're on your own." A look of contempt spread across her face, "don't worry, Krycek – I'm not taking any falls for you." He hated this, really – he didn't wish her any harm; she'd already been through her share, but she couldn't count on him. He wouldn't let her, even for a moment. "Good," he breathed, "just so we understand each other." Her face colored red, eyes narrowed, "we understand each other better than anyone would know, Krycek," she pulled her weapon from her side and spit out, "Let's go."

Once they made it to the hallway, Stinson met them at the door to the obs room, "Scully?" he inquired of her warily. She fixed her face with her best no-nonsense smile, "I just got a call from Skinner," she fudged uneasily, "he's down at a warehouse off Georgia; needs Krycek to I.D. a body." She hoped her voice didn't sound so _off, _so… guilty to Stinson at it sounded in her ears. Stinson leaned back in the room and called to Wallace who was absorbed in the computer monitor; Wallace shuffled quickly to his feet, preparing to accompany his partner. "Uh… Wallace," her eyes almost swung to Krycek, but she held herself in check, "It's okay – Mulder is downstairs waiting." Shit. This was not going to work. Not at all.

"Oh, uh…," Wallace glanced back at the monitor, "are you _sure_," he almost whined. "I'm your partner, Scully – we should do this together." She glanced at Grimes, and then back at Wallace. She was getting pale. Krycek knew it – saw it in her eyes; she was choking. He cursed under his breath, and as quick as a magician, twisted his cuffed hands down and away and snatched Scully's weapon in one fluid movement. He shot Wallace in the left arm, and Stinson high in the leg before either blinked. He leveled the gun at the stunned red-head and fixed her with menace, "Agent Scully," he hissed at her, "tell Agent Grimes exactly what you know I'm capable of if he so much as _flinches_," he bit out the last word. She swallowed dry, and stammered out, "do what he says, Agent Grimes," her eyes filled with a mixture of hate and astonishment, "he'll kill me, and he'll finish off those two before you ever get off a shot."

Krycek smiled a nasty little smile in her direction, "Agent Scully," he nodded his head at the other agents, "please secure the wounded agents and Agent Grimes in the obs room," he backed against the wall, ducking out of the sweep of the security camera. Scully mutely assisted Stinson and Wallace into the obs room. Krycek growled at her in a low voice, "and get the key -- get these damned things off my hands!" he glanced around the corridor, nervously, "I can't _move_ like this."

Scully took the key, unlocked one cuff and attempted to unlock the other, but Krycek impatiently knocked her hands away, "that's good enough," he said roughly, "now let's _MOVE._" Her body overcame the rising panic with a rush of adrenaline; she broke into a run and her shorter legs kept pace only slightly behind his long-limbed strides. Krycek hit the door to the stairwell first, crashing through it, but oddly, stopping to keep it open for her. '_What the hell have I done?_' quickly followed by '_I've fallen into the rabbit hole_,' rushed through Scully's mind – Krycek, the gentleman? The man she'd just witnessed fluidly incapacitating two of her fellow agents?

Running, running down flight after flight of stairs, boots squeaking as they rounded the landings until they were making the last one and finally the garage level door appeared in their sights. "Card, Scully," Krycek was already gritting out at her, and her hands fumbled to her side pocket, "tick-tock Scully," he growled as they both leapt the final two stairs and their boots made loud 'thwack's onto the bottom landing. She fumbled her id badge and pulled her key card out, sliding it once, badly, red light; sliding it again, this time green light, and Krycek loud in her ear, "GO," as he grabbed for the handle, simultaneously pulling the door and pushing her out.

Krycek immediately fell to a crouch and Scully followed suit; "where's your car?" he asked in a low voice. "Follow me," she said shortly, glad to be taking the lead again. They dodged in between parked cars and zig-zagged their way to her vehicle, she pulled the keys from her hip pocket, but Krycek purloined them deftly, "I drive – your nerves are too shot," he ordered. She stared a challenge at him for a split second, but knew he was right and gave in almost immediately. He unlocked the door and pulled it open, gesturing for her to get in first. She slid in quickly and he pulled himself up into the driver's seat. Starter scraping, gear shift engaged, tires squealing tightly as he backed the car out, and then jamming his foot on the accelerator, to beat the automatic grid gate lowering, signifying lock-down. They'd just pulled safely under it, to the shocked notice of the garage attendant, when he finally turned to her and flashed a brilliant grin, "now _that_ was a get-away."

Scully let out the breath she'd been holding since they first crashed through the staircase door. Then she leveled a steely stare at Krycek's profile, "what in the HELL," and she sank her fingers into his right arm, "WAS THAT?" He pulled his arm from her fingers with a yelp, "I just saved your sorry ASS, that's what that was!" he had to pull the wheel hard to right the car, "You CHOKED, Agent," he started to chuckle, but she looked at him darkly and said, "You could have KILLED those agents, Krycek--," he cut her off, "No, Scully. I was in complete control." The amusement slipped from his eyes; his irises like two flinty stones, "_That_ is _your_ problem… your partner's too –," his mouth was set in a grim line, "you let passion overrule your judgment, and you both lose it, choke in the clinch."

Her mouth worked; she wanted to say something, tell him to go 'f' himself… but she couldn't. She was completely floored. '_Where did this guy get OFF?' _she wondered. But… the thought came upon her, unwelcome, '_he had a point_.' In the limited exposure she'd had to Krycek, she had to admit, that she'd never seen him lose his cool, never seen him be anything but absolutely, deadly, calculatingly …_efficient._ While Mulder took pot-shots, and pummeled Krycek when he got angry… Krycek maintained the hauteur that said, unmistakably, '_I could kill you any time I want. But I don't want.'_

Slowly, the thought dawned in her mind, he risked his ass to keep her from taking any kind of fall for the incident they'd just narrowly escaped. He'd taken charge when she was in most danger of exposing herself and took the responsibility for the entirety of the scheme upon his own shoulders. He'd thrust her weapon back at her, handle first, as soon as he'd parked himself in the driver's seat. He obviously didn't intend her harm. Then, darkly, she thought, '_Why…?'_ but he broke into her thoughts, "Scully, they'll be crawling all over this place --," he scanned the road ahead, "we've got to come up with a plan, and quick." He looked at her incredulously, "Scully… I mean, _now_ – this is what I meant by flying by the seat of our pants…"

Okay, okay, think Scully, think… "I got it; my personal car is parked over at the International Tunnel Bridge--" His eyebrows went up quizzically. She glanced heavenward, "look, it breaks down a lot – I usually just use a bureau-issued vehicle anyway," '_and why,' _she thought, '_am I explaining this to _him.' "Are you good with cars?" she switched tacts. He rolled his eyes toward her and back at the road, "Scully," he drawled, "I'm good with animal, vegetable _and_ mineral," he grinned slowly, "but I'm _best_ with machines," he finished with a brilliant smile. "Well, you're going to need all your luck with my car," she said acidly, "it's a P.O.S." She glanced nervously in the rearview, "Listen," she fished her car keys out of yet another pocket, "take it – take my car –if you can start it—and here," she removed the clip from her gun, "take this, too, and dump it in the Potomac when you head over the bridge."

He glanced down at the proffered clip, "Scully, are you …_trusting me_?" he asked in mock innocence. "Of course, I should be the one to question _you_, Agent," he looked thoughtfully out at the road, "I still don't know why you decided to let me go," he said. They both fell silent for a moment. Krycek was out of his depth. He'd not had an ally in a year. He shook his head, '_no, it's crazy,'_ he straightened, '_I still don't. This is _Scully _we're talking about here.'_ He attempted to study her out of the corner of his eye, _'Nah,' _he thought, _'she's in Mulder's hip pocket. 'Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer,''_ the adage ran through his mind. _'Easy' _he thought, _'I have no friends.'_

For her part, Scully wasn't exactly sure _what_ she was doing. She felt more than knew that she should let Krycek slip out this time – he knew something, something about the last few cases she and Mulder worked (and stranger still, at times, Krycek seemed conflicted, almost as if he had something he really wanted to reveal to them…) Of course they carried away from these cases no concrete proof – they never did, but she typed up her reports, as she always did, attempting to make the evidence breath easily within the confines of science. It was an uneasy alliance, at best. But the _thing _in the box car, and X saving Mulder's life, and Commander Johansen telling her of the P51 Mustang with it's own strange cargo… there was something buried within all this that Scully was determined to uncover. Even if it meant her own uneasy alliance with the wildcard that was Krycek.

They came upon the parking lot swathed in the harsh realm of imitation daylight. Scully felt spent, and the morning was almost upon them; she looked over at Krycek. Whatever was left of his night would be worse, she knew. Her animosity thawed a bit, "I don't know why you risked your life to cover me, Krycek," She studied him for a moment, "but, for what it's worth, thank you." He had let his head roll back onto the headrest for just a moment, his eyes closed; at her voice, they sprang open and he looked over at her. "Yeah, well, you didn't give me much choice, _opasnoe odna_; it was either that or watch you self-destruct and subsequently risk serious injury to my person," he chuffed in the back of his throat, "which wouldn't be a very acceptable outcome, eh Scully?"

He looked over the dash out into the parking lot, "That the P.O.S.?" he aked suddenly, gesturing to her pitiful car. "Yeah… good luck starting it," she said. He made no movement. "What was it you called me," she asked, "just now?" He laughed, "I called you 'dangerous one'" "Me?" she was incredulous, "Pot, meet kettle." He turned toward her, and in the odd light, he looked …friendly, heroic, almost, and she was reminded of how she'd had to readjust her opinion of him earlier. "So…" he looked at her expectantly, "what is it you want from _me_, Agent Scully?" She looked back out the window, and thought about how the devil was disguised, too, as a being of incredible light and beauty, fooling anyone who wasn't absolutely vigilant. "For that information," she measured her words, "you will have to just give me time, Krycek," she steeled herself, "all in good time."


	7. Separation Anxiety

тревожность разъединения

Scully surveyed the agents assembled in the room; '_tough crowd,_' she thought, suppressing a snort. Skinner, Blevins, and some higher ups, men and women that she recognized on sight, but who's names she didn't know; and in the corner, that smoking, skulking figure -- all assembled in the Director's office to see her raked over the coals. She knew the drill, by this point; apology as policy or deny everything and feign ignorance. She had come prepared to follow the second plan of attack… but was almost startled out of her carefully placed composure to realize that neither would be necessary. They viewed her as a victim, and treated her solicitously – each superior taking turns to ascertain her emotional state or level of readiness to return to her job.

All except for that smoking bastard.

He sat reclusive in shadow as was his usual practice, chain smoking and eyeing her suspiciously. Throughout the meeting she would periodically glance in his direction and see his same flat, inscrutable expression. It made her feel …_unclean._ Or perhaps that was the smoke rapidly filling the room. She felt it permeating her skin, settling into her pores. Oh, she hated that man, almost as much as Mulder did.

Mulder. She wished they'd let her partner (_no, Wallace is your partner, now_) be in the room with her. She had so much she wanted to communicate with him; that she had established a contact, that this contact would be able to feed them information… she wanted to tell him of her strange findings, her hypotheses on these findings… tell him that she didn't think this mystery they'd begun unraveling had anything to do with anything _otherworldly_. But that it was their own government, hell, _all the governments of the world, maybe_ that were running some kind of global game with average, unsuspecting people as the pawns.

"Agent _Scully--,_" she looked up startled, realizing that Blevins had been speaking to her, "I said, are you sure that Krycek was heading for Argentina at the time he escaped from your custody?" She stored her thoughts and prepared to lie, full into his face, "Sir, I hesitate to attribute any sort of candor to Alex Krycek," she glanced about the room, "but if his comments to me were any indication, that was his intention." Out of the corner of her eye she noticed that Cancer Man was eyeing her, still. Blevins turned back to Skinner, and the two bent heads in quiet conference. Skinner straightened and moved toward the smoking man, laying a protective pat on Scully's shoulder as he passed. He leaned down and began an inaudible dialogue with him.

Blevins looked around the room, "Gentlemen, ladies; we've accomplished all we came here to do today. The meeting is adjourned." He looked to Skinner's assistant, "Kim, will please have a copy of the notes on each of our desks by Friday?" The assistant gave an almost imperceptible nod at the Director and left the room, pulling the door softly behind her.

The senior members of the room began to file out the door in a gentle wash of hushed conversation and Scully glanced around her. She let her breath out and gathered her coat, preparing to leave the room. She couldn't believe she'd skated through this without at least a suspension. She was nearing the door, close to escape when she was halted, "Scully," the voice sandpapery and phlegmy, scraped her nerves. She turned slowly until her eyes met the smoking man's. "A word?" he said simply; it sent an involuntary chill up her spine.

Scully glanced in confusion toward Skinner looking for some indication of what was going to happen; Skinner, in turn, looked quizzically at the smoking man, and back at Scully. Evidently, he was surprised, as well. "Alone, please, Skinner," he said quietly. Skinner threw an anxious glance her way, but clenched his jaw and moved toward the door. As he closed it softly behind him, Scully turned to the enigmatic figure in the only dark corner of the room. She would not be intimidated. She stared back at him, silent.

"So, Agent," his mouth quirked, "Krycek seems to have slipped through your grasp." It wasn't a question. She took a breath, "So it would seem… _sir,_" she replied evenly. He sat quietly for an eternity it seemed, staring into the fog created by his smoking. Scully wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her discomfort. She clamped her lips tight to keep from saying anything. Finally he spoke, "Just how did an unarmed man pass through all those experienced agents, Scully?" She bit back the snappish retort on her lips and replied, "Excuse me, sir, I assumed you heard my full report." He looked impassively at her. "I did, indeed, Agent," deep drag on his cigarette, "I am, however, concerned with certain…_inconsistencies_ in the telling of what went on in that hallway," he looked into her eyes, "I think you know of what I speak."

She started to rise from her chair, "Sir, if you will excuse me-," he cut her off, "I find it hard to believe, Agent Scully, that Alex Krycek would indicate to you his plans of the immediate future," speculatively, he turned his cigarette between his fingers, "this business about Argentina…" Her chin tilted slightly up, "No. I don't think so, either," she said tiredly, "I suspect he'll be anywhere _but_ Argentina, actually," she inhaled a long moment, "I think I said as much in the meeting." He looked directly into her eyes, the impression of his cold stare made her think of a snake, all cold blood and deadly precision. "It might be tempting to make alliances with people you assume possess certain knowledge," pausing to stub out his cigarette, "but volatile people pass unreliable information." He lit another, "you would do well to remember this, Agent Scully." Scully favored him with a tight smile, "Is that all, sir?" she asked. He regarded her a moment, "I'm sure I don't have to warn you that Alex Krycek is a very dangerous man, Agent." She almost smiled at the irony, "No, sir, you don't," she replied.

She glanced toward the door, "if you've nothing further, I have a report to file." As her hand grasped the door knob, he stopped her, "Mulder will no doubt be hearing of your incident, Agent?" She turned and nodded tightly, not waiting to find out if it was a legitimate question… or a threat.

Scully closed the door behind her, and headed toward the washroom. She gave a cursory glance into the small sitting room; good, it was empty. Sinking down into the worn cushion of the small couch, she allowed herself to think about what the smoking man had said. He knew that all was not as it seemed in Krycek's escape from the federal building. But did he suspect her part in it? Scully thought back over the whole of the incident, playing back every word of the exchange. Briefly, she sketched over the moment when she'd mentioned Skinner, and then Mulder – almost in the same breath. But no one, not Stinson, Grimes or Wallace had mentioned that. Well, Wallace and Stinson were both in Bethesda recovering from their gunshot wounds, but both had been debriefed, and, incredibly, neither had recalled that vital slip of incriminating dialogue. Nor did Grimes. Not that it was a huge concern; she'd already worked out what she would counter with if it was brought up – she had simply made a bad decision, and attempted to take him to Mulder – a partner she wasn't supposed to have any official contact with at present. She would be repentant and would likely get a suspension, but would be reinstated after a period of good behavior and continued desk work.

No, that angle would work out okay. Alex Krycek had seen to that with his actions in the hallway. _God bless him,_ thought Scully, _whether he meant it to my advantage or not._ He'd taken control, and pulled all the focus upon himself – and in the confusion, no one had thought to shift any of it to her possible culpability in the matter.

So, there was no concrete _anything_ that the Smoking Bastard had to hold over her… but he had a way of knowing things, and she suspected that he _knew_ she wasn't as unsullied in this incident as she appeared to be. How? Probably just his duplicitous nature; always looking for the angles himself, he could easily see the game player in the most innocent of people. She would just have to deal with any fall-out in that quarter as it arose.

**B**ack in her cubicle, she felt safer. She gave a surreptitious glance around and slipped her cell out of her pocket, pressing the single button. "Mulder," the short familiar greeting spilled even more calm upon her frazzled nerves. "It's Scully," she whispered into the phone, "have I got a story for you. Can we meet?" She glanced up; around her agents were busy hovering over computer terminals paying her no heed, "Scully – so clandestine," he chuckled, "careful, or they'll start calling you 'Spooky' in my absence." Damn, his voice was good for her, "Nah – it'll never happen; I'm too _dour_ remember?… seriously, you up for some darts or something?" He answered almost before she asked, "Absolutely – but come prepared to lose. I'm feeling lucky." She felt the tension ooze out of her at his words, "You bet. But come prepared to listen… _Spooky._"

She snapped the phone closed and palmed it toward her pocket but almost dropped it when it chirruped at her. She looked at it quizzically; the number was unfamiliar but she recognized a Connecticut area code. "Scully," she answered tentatively. The pause on the other end set her oddly on edge. She tried again, "Agent Scully – FB-," he cut her off, "I got it the first time," he said, "I was pausing for dramatic effect, Agent," he chuckled, "don't you watch the movies?" She looked around, really nervous, now, "_Krycek?_" she whispered. "One and the same, Scully," his voice soothed congenially. She rose from her seat and walked to the stairwell door, "Bill!" she exclaimed, "can you call me back in five?" she lied. "Yeah, I'll head outside so we can catch up, but I'll lose the call in the stairwell," He chuckled again, "Okay, okay, I'll call you back in five minutes," and hung up. She continued on for a moment, issuing a hearty, 'okay, talk to you in a minute,' and rushed out the exit.

As Scully hit the bottom of the stairwell and pushed out the ground floor exit, her phone chirruped at her again, "Hello," she said quickly. "Okay, here's the deal," he started immediately, "I owe you one, and I don't like being in another's debt," he paused, "especially when I'm not aware of benevolent precedent in that other's behavior-," but she interrupted, "Alex, there is benevolent precedent, though," she took a deep breath, "I shot Mulder to protect _you_, don't forget that." He chuckled deeply this time, "Ahhh, yes – that. Well, I always considered that your protective measure was mostly for Mulder's benefit, not mine, Scully," he let out a long breath, "but I'll accept your version of the events, with my sincerest gratitude."

"Good," she said, "because he held a grudge for a long time after," she gave a little involuntary shudder at Mulder's hurt and anger… and pushed the thought out of her mind of what Mulder would think of the current set-up.

"Oh, I'm sure," he agreed, "I'm not exactly on his top ten 'Guys You'd like to Hang Out With' list," he snorted. "No," she retorted, "more like 'Guys You'd Like to HANG' list, I'm afraid." Their mutual amusement dried up quickly. Too much history hanging in the air between them to support much mirth.

"I thought you might need a contact number," he said abruptly, bringing them both back to the present, "you've got plans for our association, I'm assuming?" It was more a statement than a question. Scully was stopped short by the question. She hadn't even thought about that; if she was intending to exploit her hunch – that Krycek was no longer working for the Cancer Man and his ilk, and might be willing to help her as revenge for the attempt on his life by them – then she'd need a _way_ to contact him! "Why- why did you call? I just set you on your way with no way to trace your movements," she asked incredulously, "and I'd have had no way to contact you…until the next time our paths inevitably crossed…" Yet again, she found herself reevaluating the double agent.

"Let's just say… I'm playing a hunch, Scully, and leave it at that." He let that hang in the dead air, then, "Listen, I have to move, so, just put this number into your call list. If I don't answer, assume it's a dead link, and I'll get back in touch with you by another route, when I'm able." She halted him before he could disconnect, "Krycek – thanks. I'm playing a hunch, too – but I'm a little out of my depth, here." He was silent for a moment, and then said, "Hey. This double agent stuff takes time, Scully," he chuckled, "you'll get the hang of it; you're a quick learner," and promptly hung up.

It was true. She was completely out of her element; she had a hunch that Krycek knew a great deal of information, or at least had access to a catalogue of evidence that would be useful to the work in which she and Mulder were now, unofficially, attached. What she didn't know was how to _play the game._ She had always allowed Mulder to do the unseen, darker work. Well, now, dark work was coming her way, and she would not hide from the duty, allow Mulder or someone else to take charge. She felt the time was at hand for her to get her hands a little dirty. And what better teacher than Alex Krycek?

_**AN**: Okay, stop being dirty. When I say Scully is getting her hands dirty, I only mean working from the wrong side of the rules. That's it. She's not fantasizing about Krycek's anatomy and all the sinful things she can do with him (that's me, not her.) Desperate times call for desperate measures; she's only seen the effects of some of what Mulder is willing to do in his pursuit of the truth – now she feels it's her turn to bend a little. And Krycek? Well… he IS an opportunist, isn't he? And he's been living on the short end of a very long Consortium stick… feeling the end of the line coming, hard and fast. I'd take help where I could get it, too. Wouldn't you?_


	8. Resist the Future

**сопротивляйте будущему**

Krycek stared out the window, deep in thought but alert. If she didn't show within ten minutes, he'd have to bolt. He'd have no other choice. There was heat, especially in this town, and he didn't want to get burned. His fingers nervously drummed on the steering wheel, his eyes remained watchful. Inexplicable, trusting this woman… if he'd had the sense Providence gave an ape he'd have disappeared into the urban jungle and never contacted her. But… Something in his gut compelled him to give her his number. Why? He couldn't pin the reason down. Suffice to say that she'd risked career suicide to get him out of that federal building; he couldn't escape the blatant evidence that this was a biggie for Scully. Based upon his limited experience with her, Krycek knew that when Scully acted out in a big way, she usually had very compelling reasons to do so.

So, he trusted her. This time.

Headlights rounding the corner reflected off the smooth upholstery of his dash; his senses sharpened. Ducking his head, he looked through the small space between his seat and the headrest. It was the right make and model of car, at least. Searching, his eyes detected the flash of red-gold and translucent white in the driver's seat. It was her. Something that had been coiled in his chest slowly released. Had he been holding his breath? _'Sheesh, Alex, lighten up,'_ he thought. She'd followed his instructions to the letter, backing into one of the outer parking spaces in the northwest parking area, flashing her headlights dim, bright, dim before turning off the engine. She exited the car immediately, and headed toward the door of the imposing Catholic Church. The briefest pause, then she entered the building.

Alex gave it a count of twenty and then exited his own vehicle. It was Saturday night; Mass was on Saturday nights. He thought the choice oddly appropriate for their meeting, he knew she was Catholic… and he'd been raised Russian Orthodox; two religions which shared so much, yet remained in a state of chilly animosity. _'The choice of venue is a perfect fit actually,'_ he thought as he steeled himself and entered the cool of the sanctuary.

He moved quickly and quietly up the aisle as she'd chosen to sit very close to the front; oddly, the position made him nervous. He entered the pew just behind hers and leaning close to her ear as he sat down he whispered, "Amicus certus in incerta re cernit." She turned slightly and a small smile played at her mouth, "Latin, Krycek?" She turned back around, "Let's see," she paused, "a sure friend from an unsure situation…?" and glanced back at him. He shrugged, "Something like that," he said quietly, "Latin seemed appropriate, being we're in church." She turned around fully in the pew, now, "neither of us should be sure of friendship at this juncture, though," she said, not unkindly. He studied her, measuring his words, "No, I suppose you're right…" looking up at her, "but it's the only Latin phrase I know." She turned her face toward him, and saw the hint of humor on his face; she smiled back, "Ah…well, then…" she cleared her throat, "Cogito sumere potum alterum." He cocked his head to the side, as if to aid him in understanding. She smiled at him and translated, "I think … I'll have another drink." At his grin, she felt compelled to explain, "Lots of Latin in Med School," she smiled, "we came up with some colorful phrases to relieve the overload."

They sat in silence for a few moments. "So… were you just trying out our system, or did you have something you wished to discuss," he said with little preamble. She was taken aback by his guilelessness. "Well… I…yes, actually." He looked at her expectantly, but didn't utter a sound. His calm was slightly unnerving. She was struck again, as she had been when thinking over the events of their escape from the federal facility, at how calm his exterior seemed. She'd decided that it was almost as if he had an inner compass that always, unfailingly pointed north. He was …directed. Unfazed. "I wanted to provide you with some information," she finally said. "In the interest of full disclosure," she exhaled sharply, "think of it as a …trust building… thing." Krycek stared at her for a full minute, shifted in his seat and then leaned forward, elbows on knees, giving her full attention, "Go ahead," he said quietly. "That DAT tape," she began, "the one you beat the hell out of my boss to obtain," she arched an eyebrow at him, "it's full of records, Krycek." He leaned in closer, "what kind of records?" She hunkered down further into the pew, "Mulder came into contact with a… hacker," she eyed him, "called himself The Thinker. He hacked into DoD classified, and found himself face to face with the mother lode."

Krycek interrupted her, "Scully, it might be a mother lode, but the encryption is impossible," he shook his head, "I've never seen anything like it." She lowered her voice even more, "Krycek, it's Navajo." He didn't miss a beat, "How do you know?" She explained to him that she had come across the subject of Navajo Code Talkers during research for an undergraduate course. "I recognized some of the letter combinations, checked it out, and sure enough," she smiled, "Navajo." She studied him for a moment, thinking. If she was going to get something out of this 'partnership' she knew she'd have to make some good-faith investment in it first, "that disk you were after? It contains a database of names," she took a deep breath, "the name of the man who translated it for us, and the names of the twenty elders with whom he shared the information," she seemed awed with the importance of her information, "all encrypted, of course." Krycek was pensive, said slowly, "And these men can all recite the information on that DAT tape," it was more a statement, than a question. She nodded in the affirmative.

Krycek sat thoughtful for a long moment. "So… this information is at the FBI's disposal as long as the identity of those men is kept under lock and key, yes?" She nodded again and made her appeal, "it is absolutely imperative that these men receive the highest degree of protection the agency has," she looked pointedly at him. He understood immediately and countered, "But … you are not above some … unofficial assistance, are you?" She was asking for his help. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. He'd have to ponder it later. "What's in it for me, Scully?" he asked abruptly. Again, she was taken aback, "Well… for one thing," she said, "I don't _find_ that DAT tape." He smiled, "You wouldn't find it, anyway, if I didn't _want_ you to…" She looked momentarily shocked, but then nodded her understanding, "True, true… You've proven yourself invisible on more than one occasion…" she let her voice trail off as her eyes drifted back to the front of the sanctuary.

He studied her profile. She had surprised him repeatedly in the last few weeks of their new association. That wasn't an easy thing to do. Krycek was rarely _pleasantly_ surprised by anyone. But in this case, he had to admit, it was true. She was taking a huge chance – _'as am I,'_ he thought – just by being in the same physical space as him. She'd know that, of course. Something occurred to him, "Why are you _offering_ me this DAT tape, Scully?" He studied her expression as she turned towards him, "What's in it for _you?_" he asked abruptly. She looked full in his face, then, "I'm offering to _lose_ it to you, because I know the difficulty of translating it," looking away, "and I'm not willing to pay the price of having it in my possession." Scully shuddered at the memory of the recent, frantic cross-country journey. She forcefully put it out of her head. "It's important enough and obscure enough…" she changed directions, "Let's just say I think whatever shady plans you might have for the tape… well, I am beginning to understand that sometimes, you have to work outside the rules to do good." Her eyes dropped to her hands, "and I'm not able… I'm not quite there, yet, Krycek."

It was difficult to hear her even with his chin almost resting on the back of her pew. He understood her confusion, though, loud and clear. She'd probably never been one to color outside the lines even when she was a kid. He knew the pain of losing your innocence, little by little and she'd had hers forced from her in shocking jolts. He vaguely felt a stirring of pity for her. "Scully, I'm going to do what it takes to get leverage with that tape," he looked up at her, "you know that, don't you?" Now she smiled tiredly at him, "of course, Krycek – that's why I'm turning my head." He felt suspicion curl up within him again, "I can't figure your angle…" he sat back a little, narrowed his eyes, focused, "and that bothers me." Mentally, he went through possible motivations; nothing seemed remotely tenable. "Your partner hates me, the bureau probably has a price on my head…" he leaned forward, "and I'm a sucker if I allow myself to believe that your motives are all sweetness and light." He raked a hand through his hair, "You've got to give me more."

Scully moved around the pew and took a seat next to Krycek. She mirrored his posture, leaning her elbows on her knees and turned her face to his, "In this case, Krycek, my motives are straightforward. The encrypted tape has inherent safeguards and built-in roadblocks to the access of the information contained therein," she leaned toward him, urgent, "I'm not a true believer, Krycek; I don't buy the story that is detailed on that tape. Because of my experiences of the last four years, I am absolutely convinced that the conspiracy is man-made, and the files on that tape are an elaborate smoke screen designed by unscrupulous men to cover the truth." She rubbed her eyes, "That information is embarrassing to certain quarters, though, and they would stop at nothing to suppress it." Krycek began to see where she was going with this, "And you want to ensure that the names on that database stay invisible." She seemed relieved, "Yes, Krycek, that's it exactly; you take that DAT tape, we keep the database." She sat up abruptly, "During the war, those men performed a dangerous service to a country that had broken many promises," she looked at him pointedly, "the translation of those files was predicated upon a promise, Krycek," she let out a shaky breath, "a promise of complete invisibility. I can't allow that promise to be broken."

Krycek searched her eyes, looking for a 'tell,' a sign that she was deceiving him. He saw nothing but fear, urgency… and, quite possibly, sincerity. He couldn't be sure; it'd been so long since he'd actually come in contact with any. "So the identity of the translator and his, uh, friends… that's _more_ important to the bureau, than the actual files themselves?" She was mildly irritated, "Yes, absolutely." He cocked his head at her, "Scully – the smoking man tried to kill me over this tape, and now you tell me that you're just going to let me walk with it?" he scoffed, "I'm not buying it." He stood up abruptly, barked at her, "Get up." Fear pushed at the edges of her eyes, but she stood mutely. "Hold your arms out," he almost growled, and began a systematic, impersonal pat-down. "If you're wired, Scully-," she pushed his hands away instinctively, "No! No I'm not – no one knows I'm here, Krycek. This," she hesitated, "this is a personal mission." He glared at her, "It's _all_ personal, Scully." They stood in tense stand-off for an eternity, it seemed. A sudden sound at the front of the sanctuary and two heads whipped around, alert. The rector entered quietly, preparing for the evening's Mass.

"Party over," Krycek whispered and roughly grabbed her elbow, propelling her swiftly to the back of the church. Once out of the sight of the rector, she wrenched her elbow from his grasp, "Stop it, Krycek. I didn't have to give you this. I'm trying, as I said, to build trust," her eyes pleaded with his, "don't lump me in with your other associates; give me the same level of faith that I've offered you." Her eyes became flint, "you _owe_ me that much." His lips twisted cruelly and he lowered his face within an inch of hers, "Make no mistake, Scully; I owe you nor your partner, nor anyone _anything_. I've given up a great deal to accomplish certain objectives," his breathing ragged, "I've more than paid the price of admission, and you'd better believe I'm going to collect something in return." Suddenly, his eyes were searching hers. Like a shock, Scully thought he might be going to kiss her. In an instant, she recognized the absurdity of the thought. He backed away quickly, "Here's my offering to you," his jaw working furiously, "don't trust anything, don't trust anyone," his eyes bore into hers, "take whatever comes your way and figure out how to use it later when you've got the luxury of time. You'll stay alive longer." He started for the door, but looked back, "I won't purposely double cross you, Scully, but I do what I _have_ to do. You need to remember that. Stay out of the cross-fire, and maybe we'll be able to make this thing work."

He ducked out the door and into the night, leaving her dumfounded, staring after him. _'Good,'_ he thought. He was unnerved by her, had felt the small moment of electricity between them when his face had been only an inch from hers. The swell of fear in his gut at the sudden irrational desire to kiss her… Hoping against hope she didn't realize. He didn't need that kind of distraction. He sank heavily into his seat; sat watching from his dark vantage point as she exited the church door, impossible thoughts torturing his usually steely resolve. He beat his hand on the steering wheel, 'Dammit!' he hissed, 'I will not be responsible for you, Agent Scully.' But even as he said it, he recognized the falsehood. He was already caught with little chance of escape.

_end chapter 8_

**AN:** A couple of things; first, notice the Cyrillic letters at the top of chapters 4- 8. They are my best effort at providing some Russian color in my titles (since Krycek is a Russian agent… we think?) I arrived at them by putting the English versions into Yahoo's Babel Fish. They probably would make a real Russian language speaker laugh uproariously, but that's okay. As Mr. Bennet says, "For what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbours, and laugh at them in our turn?" Just so you don't have to look them up they are: Chapter 4: Begin at the Beginning, Ch.5: What Fresh Hell, Ch6: Arranged Without My Consent, Ch7: Separation Anxiety, and Ch8: Resist the Future.

Next, thank you, thank you, and thank you! To everyone who is taking time to read, and to those of you who have given reviews. It means a lot. I am frankly surprised by how MUCH. Delightful, really! Solard


	9. Why

Почему?

**_In the_** dim light of the small, odor-filled room, Krycek sat at the bar. He was uncomfortably buzzed. Meaning, he wasn't drunk enough, and the swill didn't seem to be working on him tonight. He'd intended to drown out the nagging thoughts but instead his slight inebriation provided the right mental state in which the thoughts could flourish and take root. Good ground for seeds of despondency; something which he never indulged. Wasn't good for business. But tonight his mind had other plans.

He shouldn't have met with Scully. Hell, shouldn't have given her his contact number. Of course, he could just get rid of the phone – he'd always be able to obtain another. Although now that he was on the outside of the syndicate, his movements had to be a little more circumspect… But that mattered little. Tools were readily available for the enterprising individual. "And _I _am an enterprising individual," he lifted the shot glass in a silent toast to himself, gulped the contents down in one swallow. "Gaah!" he shuddered out loud, shook his head and briefly thought of going home. Maybe just the toilet. Yeah. Now that he thought of it, he had to piss.

Throwing a crumpled bill up on the bar, Krycek slid off the stool and made his way unsteadily to the restroom. He bumped a few tables, muttering a terse _'sorry'_ to each, then pushed his way through the men's room door. "Sloppy, Alex… very sloppy," the voice startled him from the back corner of the cramped washroom. Krycek's buzz evaporated in an instant, all instincts snapping to attention. He forced calm on his nerves and continued to the urinal with barely a hitch in his stride. He unzipped with a flourish, "Do you mind, Cardinale," he snorted, "some guys like to piss _without_ an audience." Cardinale's lips turned up in a nasty grin, "Come on, Krycek; that any way to talk to an old friend?" Krycek allowed himself an amused grunt, "Is that what's passing for friendship these days," he took his time finishing off and zipping up, then turned to his former associate. "Perhaps you'd let me show you how much I appreciate your… _friendship?_" his voice malicious. Cardinale raised his hands defensively, "Now, now, buddy, let's don't start the party before the guests arrive…" Krycek's eyes narrowed, "How'd you get in here, anyway? I had a clear view of the door…" His eyes darted around the washroom, taking in the small window over the lone stall. _'Of course; can't get through the door, try the window. Crook 101.'_ Cardinale's eyes followed Krycek's, "See? I called it – you've become sloppy… or should I say _desperate?_"

Enough. "What do you want, Luis?" he walked warily to the sink, ran his hands under the water and raked them through his hair. Cardinale eyed him narrowly, "I want that tape." Wow, straight to the point. At least Cardinale still possessed the one trait that made him stand out. "I know you have it – it was still on you when we left you in that car." He leaned casually against the edge of the stall, "It wasn't about _you_, Alex," he casually bit a finger nail off, and spit it out the side of his mouth, "it was only about the tape. Nothing personal, man." Wrong answer. Krycek lunged toward the man, throwing him against the cinder block wall, "It's ALL _personal_, Cardinale!"

The first blow he delivered landed squarely on Cardinale's jaw, leaving Krycek's knuckles raw and torn but it didn't matter. The initial contact released something savage buried deep inside him. He tore into Luis Cardinale with the fervency of demonic energy, releasing all the suppressed retaliation to all the years of abuse he'd suffered at the behest of the Consortium. He delivered a torrent of almost unanswered abuse on the sagging form before him until Cardinale was on the ground, bleeding at his feet. Unable to stop himself, he reared back his foot and kicked Cardinale hard in the side. The still form uttered one grunt, and then fell silent. Krycek staggered to the sink, dazed. He looked at himself in the mirror; the only signs he'd been in a fight were his ragged, scraped knuckles and a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. He turned on the faucet, scooped up great handfuls of water, alternately splashing his face and gulping great mouthfuls. Sudden inspiration seized him; he reached down, patted Cardinale for his wallet and pulled it from his pocket with still shaking hands. Tucked inside he found two hundred dollars in Fifties; he relieved Cardinale's wallet of the burden, tossed the billfold on the human heap and pushed through the door.

"Clean up on aisle two," he growled at the barmaid with a shake of his head toward the men's room, tossing the pilfered money at her. Her mouth worked wordlessly as he pushed out into the night. She'd recover from the initial shock as soon as she investigated the mess in the washroom. Then she'd be pissed. Krycek almost felt sorry for her.

He made a sweep of the street; Cardinale had found him, there were bound to be others. He had to get out of this town. Possibly out of the country for a while. His mind ran through potential contacts, but he came up with precious few. Scully wasn't far from the truth when she'd said he was running on empty where the Consortium was involved. He'd burned some bridges, true. But new ones could always be built as soon as you had the right collateral. Currently his single most valuable asset was that DAT tape. Maintain control of the tape and he'd maintain control of his life. Leverage, it was all about leverage. Suddenly, the thought came to him. There was still one contact he had left who knew how to make the most of a bargaining chip. A contact from the old days. Plans spontaneously combusted in his mind; first, he had to contact Jerry, then he had to get to Hong Kong. He struck out into the darkness, hunching his shoulders against the cold. It was going to be a long night.

**_Krycek_** stared at the computer screen; his eyes were blurry. The upshot was that his tasks were nearly finished. He had spent the better part of the night pushing a rush on his necessary documentation, arranging the pick-up time and checking flight schedules, taking care to determine the best time to slip undetected from the States. He determined that the active search for his whereabouts had cooled somewhat and that afforded him the luxury of more orthodox travel times. No flights at 3am this time. He'd travel in late afternoon; a time guaranteed to take advantage of traditionally slow traffic in the airport terminal… the stretch of time that weary businessmen chose. A very respectable time; very discreet. The low level of terminal traffic would give anyone hunting him an advantage…but then, that advantage worked both ways. And if Alex Krycek knew how to do one thing very well, it was to avoid detection.

He let a great yawn escape him; he was bone weary, but the flight to Hong Kong would afford plenty of opportunity for catching up on sleep. Aside from changing planes in San Francisco, he'd have roughly twenty-four hours in which to try to catch up on his sleep. The old desk chair creaked almost painfully as he stretched himself to his full length; the stretch felt good. Any effects of the minor bender he'd gone on the night before were so slight as to be non-existent; his thoughts were clear and focused. He had a plan, and a plan always made him feel a little surer, a little more in control. He pushed himself from the old chair and walked to the kitchen. For a moment, he hesitated before deciding against the beer in favor of the water. He rarely touched alcohol when preparing for a job and never when in the thick of one.

Restlessly, he paced the room as thoughts and plans quickly fought for preeminence in his head. Checking off the items on his mental lists, covering the manifold ways in which his plans could go wrong, meticulously plotting as many back ups; this was the life he now led. Not a word, not a single course of action undertaken without the utmost of care and calculation given, whether well beforehand or when unavoidable, quickly on the fly. More and more, he'd found himself forced to make them on the fly. If he indulged any introspection, he had to admit it was a sorry excuse for a life, really. He couldn't remember the last time he just relaxed, couldn't recall the names of anyone he'd be able to just _be_ with even if he had the luxury of time and safety. Didn't recall how it felt to take his time with any task – mundane or sublime – just because he could. Everything he did – from grocery shopping to B&E to sex – was done with a terrible, cold efficiency. Alone, and wary, all the time.

Exactly the reason why it irritated him when the cigarette smoker forced a partnership with Cardinale upon him. Nevermind that he didn't want a partner; he didn't need one. And, of course, as he'd known, the partnership led to a catastrophic blunder. This time, of mistaken identity… the death of a completely innocent bystander… who just happened to be in the right place but at an exceedingly bad time. And the partnership with Cardinale just kept going from bad to worse.

Of course, the smoker intended Cardinale to do him, after he did Scully. Krycek had figured that out pretty quickly – especially with that spectacular pyro tip-off at the Linwood. Son of a bitch. Krycek entertained himself, though, with the thought that he'd given that black-lung bastard something to think about with his phone call. Oh, yeah. It warmed him on cold nights to think of the old man coated in an extra layer of unease. Let him wonder just when his old lackey Krycek would pop up out of the blue to snuff _his_ butt out.

Sometimes cold comfort was the only comfort to be had.

Something was irritating his attention right along the rim of conscious thought. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, and didn't have much time before he had to shove off and meet his contact, pick up his needed documentation. But he'd need to puzzle it out – one of those times when he had to force his thought processes into overdrive – and clamp down on an answer. Soon. He didn't like loose ends snagging on his carefully devised plans. Something about Cardinale… and Scully… and –

Recent memory tugged at him, images flooding his mind… something about that narrow escape from drug-addled Mulder… Scully, surprisingly shooting Mulder to protect him from career suicide… His mind skimmed back further, picking up the rude details of Scully's abduction. Every time he thought of Scully, his mind rebelliously conjured up the part he'd played in it; his shamed memories the driving force behind the more-than-a-little guilt that he felt in odd moments when his mind was stilled. Thought about how he'd discovered her at the site, abandoned, barely alive... How he, a man on the run from the good guys – before the bad guys had joined the party – had let instinct and that small, guilty part of his mind take over… How he'd picked her bruised, unconscious body up, placed her carefully in his car, drove her to the nearest Emergency room. And how, just before he'd left her, he'd made a promise to her deathly still form, _"I'll protect him, Scully," _he'd said softly, sure that she was already dead, _"I'll protect him for you, as best I can."_

And he'd made good on the promise, protecting her partner whenever he was able… even when she didn't die, incomprehensible as that outcome had been. He remembered the odd sense of elation he'd felt when news reached him of her recovery. Joy, really. But, curiously, not a lifting of the guilt. And so, he kept the promise he'd made to a dying woman. Even though the woman lived. It was the least he could do, after all she'd suffered.

His gut wrenched as a sudden, incongruous thought pierced through his memories. Scully hadn't been protected just Mulder, that night she drew and fired her weapon on her partner. She'd have had no reason to believe that the bureau would do anything but decorate Mulder, if her partner had succeeded in snuffing out his life, as soon as his identity had been confirmed. Krycek was, after all, a MIA, disgraced FBI agent… a suspected traitor, a murderer. A confirmed felon. His knees felt wobbly; he slumped into a dining room chair. A curious stirring in his chest the origins of which he could only stab at made his throat go dry…

Had she, on some unconscious level, been aware that he was both the arbiter of her abduction and her escape from it as well? Was this the reason she spared him on that night at Mulder's apartment building… and the reason behind her contact with him at present? A tight fist wrapped around his heart; a curious mix of fear and… exaltation. Of a sudden, he knew he had to add one more stop to his pre-flight schedule. He scooped his phone from the coffee table and punched the one digit memory dial.

"Scully," her cursory greeting washed over him like a cool breeze. He cleared his suddenly tightened throat, "Agent Scully… it's me." He heard the rustle as she repositioned the phone. "Bad time?" he whispered, clamping down on his uncertainty. "No, no," a false casualness in her voice, "but I thought we agreed you could take a look at it on _Saturday_," she emphasized the last word almost imperceptibly. He fought the irrational urge to hang up, "This can't wait," he said simply. She exaggerated a sigh, "Oh, well… alright; what time?" a slightly bored yet irritated tone to her voice. He almost smiled at her cool performance. Mulder must be in the room. "Not at the church," he said quickly, and heard her draw in a sharp breath. "No?" a worried tone crept into her voice; she covered quickly, "I'm afraid I don't know where that is…" Hurriedly he offered, "Viet Nam Memorial," mentally calculating the time it would take to get his papers, meet with Scully and make his flight, "is 2 o'clock okay?" She breathed that bored sigh again, "Guess I'll just take my lunch hour late." She glanced a smile at her partner, "Thanks," she intoned, sarcasm shrouding the word. "Oh, and Scully," he said hastily "meet me at panel 10W, line 105." She paused, then said, "Got it; good bye."

Scully turned to her partner smoothing her face into complacency, "Mulder, I'm going to have to take my lunch late today," her voice studied nonchalance, "my mechanic can fit my leaky oil mystery into his overpriced schedule today… but I have to be there at 2 o'clock," she finished smoothly. She picked up the first folder at her fingertips, "You don't have to wait for me – I'll just catch up on these reports." Mulder focused those piercing eyes on her for a ripe moment; Scully almost squirmed under that gaze. "Sure, Scully," he said slowly, "I've got a stop or two I want to make right now, anyway…"

Damn. Things were… weird between them. Skinner decided to reopen the X-Files after Scully's scrape with Krycek. He'd reassigned them both back to the basement. Scully suspected it was something of a career slap at them both. In the past facing opposition had only cemented them as a team. Not this time. Everything between them felt _off._ No matter how Scully attempted rationalization, she knew her new alliance was solely to blame. Mulder didn't question her openly, but she knew from the unaccustomed strain between them that he harbored some doubts. She tried a small smile, "Bring me back some Thai noodles?" her voice carefully light. His face broke into a familiar grin, "Anything to help feed the craving, Scully." Mulder scooped his keys off the desk and headed to the door. As his hand went to the doorknob, Scully halted him, "Mulder?" He turned back, his brows lifted in expectancy, "Yeah?" She smiled, "It's good to be working with you again." His face relaxed, "Yeah, you too, Scully."

"**_I didn't_** figure you for a symbolic kind of guy," Scully squinted into the late afternoon sun, "'panel 10W, line 105'" she quoted, "'Kenneth William _Scully'?" _she asked incredulously. "Did you actually look up a 'Scully' on the Memorial home page?" Krycek looked up at her from hooded eyes, "I thought it was appropriate," he said simply. Then his lips tilted up slightly, "It didn't take a minute; you can find just about any surname on there," he studied her a moment, "Except for 'Krycek'… not on the list." She almost laughed at that, "How appropriate; an invisible name for an invisible man." Scully breathed in the mid-afternoon warmth. After the too quiet office, the open air and noises of the Mall felt refreshing. "So," she started, "what brings us here… what couldn't wait?" He looked down at his knees and took a deep breath, "You gave me information. I have information for you."

"Go on," her voice held expectancy. Downplaying, he muttered, "it's not earth-shattering, Scully," now he looked at her, "it'll mean more homework for you." He noticed her eyes going darker, her interest frankly evident, "I'll take whatever you've got," she said sincerely.

Oh, that look in her eyes. That guileless, honest look; it fixed him to the wall, pinned him to the mat, "You weren't meant to live," he spat out, the distaste in his voice evident, "when you came back from -," he broke off, almost giving away his part in her return, "from wherever it was they took you…" He noted the way her eyes flew open wider, rushed on to check any comment, "They don't know why, and it scares them." There. His breath came out in a ragged exhale. He rose as if to leave, but her hand on his arm stalled him, "Wait a minute," she said, a tad harshly, "you don't get to throw that at me and then just leave." He turned on her, "Look, Scully – I'm giving you only what you gave me. A starting point," he struggled for explanation, "I can't tell you _why_ they expected you to die, or _why_ they are scared that you lived…" he raked a hand through his hair, "I can only tell you that your death was intended to ensure Mulder's continued cooperation in their plans -," he held a hand up at her protests, " – No, not intentional, but coerced compliance… they knew what reactions your death would spark in Mulder, had already calculated his likely response." He looked away from her startled face, went on quieter, "but it backfired. They intended to make you another talisman in a continued quest…" an involuntary shudder escaped him, "but you lived, and Mulder's focus changed. He's not as easily manipulated as they thought… and he has your recovery, your _life_ to thank for that."

Her hand fell from his arm, gripped the edge of the bench, "why are you telling me this?" she asked almost too softly. "What is this, but…" she eyed him warily, "this doesn't strike me as information that couldn't wait." On impulse, he kneeled in the grass in front of her, took her hands in his, "Scully… You lived when you had been _marked_ for death," he brought his hand up, chucked her under the chin, forcing her to meet his eyes, "you were put into position within the X-Files by the same arrogant group who yanked me from the Academy… you were assigned the same job I was subsequently hired to do…" he wanted desperately to make her see that she escaped the fate to which he'd been damned, "_I_ screwed up, and I pay the price with a price on my head." He searched her eyes for understanding, "You are virtually untouchable by these same men because they _fear_ you; you cheated _their_ death sentence…" he squeezed her hands for emphasis, "Aren't you curious as to _why?_"

Her eyes almost pleaded with him. "What am I supposed to do with this?" she asked finally. Krycek pushed his advantage, "What you do _best_, Scully; research," he almost smiled at her, "take the jump off I've given you… find out why – why you were supposed to die, and why you didn't," he ducked his head lower, searching out her eyes, "and then _take them down_ with what you learn." The savagery in his voice brought her face sharply up, "Why is this so important to you, Krycek?" His lips curved in an odd smile, "I'm going to Hong Kong," he said, "I'll be exposing the secrets you gave me… for fun and profit," a wicked little laugh, "and I've given you the information to expose what makes you so damn near untouchable, why they fear you," his face sobered, "we'll be coming at them from both sides…and in the end, we both win," he smiled grimly, "that's why."


	10. Story of My Life

Рассказ моей жизни

_One. Two. Three. Four -… _Alex counted the seconds since he'd heard the last boot scrape on the metal steps. The fire escape landing above his head vibrated with the movement. Damn. Another rickety escape route. His position was precarious at best and he'd need to move soon. His mind jumping into overdrive, Krycek raked in a shallow breath and leapt over the metal railing. He landed with a heavy grunt on the hard pavement, rolling to his feet before the first shot ricocheted off the ground. "Krycek!" Mulder's voice followed him down the alleyway as he disappeared around a corner. He ran the back alleys like a final sprint in a marathon, slowing only when he'd approached the busy main street.

Damn it. He'd rather hoped Scully would feel compelled to keep his destination to herself. No chance; the loyalty ran deep between the two of them… He wasn't sure how she managed that without compromising her current arrangement with _him_. Of course, it was his own stupidity that he'd let slip his destination in the first place…could hardly blame her for passing on the information. He'd think on that later. Right now he had to disappear… again.

Krycek forced himself into a calm, nonchalant demeanor, strolling down the boulevard with the other shoppers. His eyes never quit moving behind his dark shades, alert and ready. But his mind stilled to puzzle out his next move. Jeri would be missed. Excellant contact; decent in the sack. Not that they'd had time for anything more than a quick tension release, but cold pizza was better than none. And he hadn't had a lot of pizza lately. He'd have to find a way out of Hong Kong, with Jeri dead –he _assumed; _he didn't stay around to check – he had no reason to be there anymore. He'd have to find his cold comfort and a place to crash from some other quarter. Brothels were out; he'd played that hand out a long time ago. He preferred his women just a tad less jaded. A name teased at the edges of his thoughts, and with it a barely suppressed groan slipped out.

Marita.

There had to be some _other _can of worms he could open without having to travel back down that road. If there was a woman alive who hated him more, Krycek wasn't aware of her. Or one who's opinion he more richly deserved. Still…desperate times. He wouldn't go that route unless circumstances left him no other choice. He ducked down the side street just a few blocks from Jeri's flat and walked what was probably an unnecessarily meandering route to the entry of her building. It never hurt to be careful. He still needed access to Jeri's computer. A shower and nap wouldn't hurt either.

He bounded up the steps two at a time, pulling the worn leather case out of the inner pocket of his jacket, retrieving the needed instruments from it as he hit the landing. His deft fingers steadied as he placed the picks into the lock set. The soft click of entry accompanied the grim smile barely curving his lips. _'Thank you, Jeri,'_ he whispered as he entered into the illusion of a foyer in the small, tidy apartment. Out of nowhere, a pang of regret hit him square in the chest. He let the feeling pass through him unhindered; she was the closest thing to a friend he'd had in a great while. His body gave an involuntary shudder; they _all_ knew what they were up against. Jeraldine Kallenchuk went out of the game with her eyes wide open. "Exactly the way she played it," he whispered in eulogy to the empty flat.

His eyes darted around the room – the dining chair would do – working quickly he grabbed the back, flipped it around, shoved it hard under the door knob. That would buy him about 30 seconds. If he was lucky. Noticing the long coffee table, he lunged quickly to the floor, caught the edge and flipped it, scanning the leg hardware. Phillips head. Okay – where would Jeri keep – the kitchen. Bounding up, he slid to a stop in the tiny galley, pulled drawers, hitting pay dirt on the third one he tried. He slid the contents around and pulled up what he judged as the right sized screw driver. His legs popped and cracked as he sat on the floor and set to work getting the legs off the table. Palming the screws into his jeans pocket, he studied the table legs. Nice heft; it would make a decent club, if he needed one. He placed it on the dining room table, and stepped over to the tool drawer. The tiny little hammer he found looked like a toy, but it would have to do. A quick scan of the drawer told him there weren't nails big enough to hold the table top to the door frame.

_Okay, what now, Alex?_ The panic percolated in his gut; he'd need to think faster than this. Damn it. His eyes fell on the table leg… The table leg – the screws were at least 2 inches long, they might be just long enough to go through the table into the door jamb. Back to the kitchen, but he knew before he even looked – there wasn't a drill. It would take at least a half hour to get all those screws in place without a drill. Shit! He felt the sweat collect and roll down his back. It was just a matter of time before Mulder – or the thugs who'd killed Jeri – tracked him down. _Think, Alex!_ He jammed his hands in his pocket scraping his hand on the jumble of screws. He pulled one up…rolled it thoughtfully between his fingers – oh, man. Sometimes the simplest solutions were right in your hand! He grabbed the screw driver off the floor; _three or four screws into the door jamb should work._

Four screws manually driven through the door into the jamb left his hands shaking and his wrists cramped. Fair trade for piece of mind. He collapsed on the floor, giving in to his exhaustion and the momentary calm. A long sigh escaped him, the feeling of contentment nearly unrecognizable. How long had it been since he'd slowed down enough to feel this peaceful? Couldn't remember; didn't matter now, anyway. _Pushing himself up slowly from the floor, Krycek headed to the bathroom. A nice shower, maybe a shave… would go a long way to getting himself back into the right head space. It had been a long day. Reaching into the cabinet, he pulled out the big fluffy towel. Held it up to his face, inhaled deeply. Mmmm. Smelled like her; faintly floral, slightly musky. A comforting aroma. Maybe a _bath_ would be better… _

_Turning slowly, he reached for the water taps, adjusting the temperature until it was just right. She'd be home soon, and he wanted to start dinner so they could finish preparing it together. That was his favorite way to end the day…together, cooking in the kitchen. Maybe a glass of wine; he knew just the bottle. He sunk back into the water, letting the warmth of it quell the burning of his tired muscles. Maybe he'd just stay in the bath, keep it warm… and draw her into it when she got home. A mischievous smile played at his lips. They could _start_ dinner together, then. His body responded to the thought of her with him in the bath. He couldn't remember not loving her; she'd become such a part of him. Felt so good to simply love and be loved back…_

_He entertained himself with thoughts of what he'd do when he got her into that tub. To watch the blue of her eyes intensify as the realization of his plan slowly crept into them, the way her dampened hair would begin to curl from the humidity. He liked that he was the only one treated to the vision of her naturally curling hair; that he was the only one with intimate enough knowledge of her to know that she was a _natural_ redhead. It pleased him that his was the name she whispered and moaned in the dark, '_Alex…_' –the name no one called him but her. The corners of his lips curled up into another lazy grin. God help him, he wanted her in a wild and reckless way. He was going to take her as soon as she slipped through that door._

_He moved his hand down his stomach and grasped his hardness, began to stroke himself leisurely, inspired by thoughts of her – heard the door slam lightly, her voice calling, _"Alex!" _Feeling, rather than hearing the light footsteps echoing _on the floor above his head, Krycek sat bolt upright … He'd fallen asleep in the bath… no, he wasn't in the bath. Where-? He shook his head to clear it and glanced around the room… He was in Kallenchuk's apartment, the tools he'd used to barricade the door strewn around him on the floor. Must have been dreaming. Again. His tumescence attested to the eerily realistic tenor of the dream, but that didn't bother him. Wasn't the first time and would, likely, _hopefully_ not be the last. The thought might have triggered a grin… except for the fact that he knew exactly who the woman was he'd been dreaming about…

And that wasn't good.

His mind whispered _'you can close your eyes…try to get her back…'_ No… not good.

A vice grip of emotion squeezed his heart… Irrationally, he wanted to love her, protect her. Wanted to feel her arms around him and his around her. Something in her eyes haunted him every time he closed his eyes. God! He wanted to burn it, _her_, out of his mind. Out of his senses. He'd been able to push the thoughts of her – the irrational, stupid, foolish thoughts – to the back of his mind through sheer force of will. But she was always there, teasing at the outer edges of his brain; tempting him to let down his guard, to glance her way… to get completely lost in the security of her terribly honest eyes. Nothing – not since he'd felt that strong urge to kiss her in the foyer of that church – not one thing had served to still the longing that was building in him to reach out and pull her to him and crush her body to his… to _possess_ her, make her his own.

Not the impromptu bender, the mad dash to get out of the country, the fear and worry dogging his steps… not even the quick, mirthless 'Hello and Welcome to Hong Kong' screw he and Jeri shared in the back storage room of her office. Nothing dulled the pain of her eyes – two javelins pinning him in place – as he knelt in the grass before her at the Memorial. Bowed like an acolyte before an alter… or a man taking vows. He would sooner tear his own heart out than let anyone have the power she was beginning to exercise over him. And yet, he could do nothing. Or _wanted _to do nothing. She already had him. When the recurring dreams featuring her started plaguing him, he almost took them for granted; they only served as harsh reminders of the trouble he'd purchased by having any sustained contact with her. It had been drilled into him during training – first rule: form no attachments. Care for no one. And that was the trouble.

He cared. Much, too much. And had, he'd only just realized, for far too long.

But he couldn't spare another thought on her; not now. He had to get back to… where? He couldn't stay in Hong Kong, _shouldn't_ go back to the states. But… the tape was in a locker in D.C. and unless he had the tape he had no leverage. So, it was back to Dulles, somehow. Preferably without Mulder on his tail. No sweat. Mulder had only ever found him when he _wanted_ to be found.

**_Krycek stepped into_ **the bustling airport, glancing around warily. His surreptitious sweep of the crowd revealed no threats; time to get a ticket out of hell. He felt pretty good, all things considered. He'd had a gloriously long, hot shower – _thank you again, Jeri_ – although he'd had to put on the same filthy clothes he'd been wearing. So, he wasn't exactly the picture of the well-dressed man. Still, he'd seen no trace of Mulder and felt looser and more relaxed than he had in days. He slacked his surveillance just a little.

Second rule he'd learned in his training days: never let your guard slip. As soon as you get comfortable, you will be blind-sided. Ridiculous; the thought came to him at the split second he felt the phone receiver smash into his lip and left cheek. At the moment he recognized the twisted fury of Mulder's right hook. _Well, I'll be damned. The fox tailed the hound…_

_end chapter 9_

**AN: **Please read and review; _feed_ the bears and they _will _write.


	11. Cover Me

**покройте меня**

"I have a few personal days," Scully said casually, "I'm going to take them." Mulder glanced up at her, the beginnings of a protest already forming. She could see it in the creases just between his eyes, his lower lip slightly jutting out. "But, Scu-," she waved her hand carelessly, cutting him off, "Mulder, I've been encouraged to take a few days," she looked at him meaningfully, "they're stacking up, and frankly, it couldn't come at a better time…" The truth of it hit her in that moment; the trip to Miramar had dredged up memories which, in the light of all that had happened recently, caused more pain than she was prepared to deal with. Hearing of Richard Johansen's death simply deepened the sadness that was beginning to tinge all of her thoughts.

"Well… where you headed?" Mulder broke into her thoughts, "will I be able to reach you? You're bringing your cell-" She ignored the spike of irritation at his presumption, "They're called '_personal _days' for a reason, Mulder," forcing exaggerated patience into her voice, "I know you aren't _overly_ familiar with the concept," she slanted a glance at him, "but you don't bring work on _personal_ days." His feigned hurt, "Aw, no, Scully… I was thinking you could call me while you were taking a bubble bath…" Her irritation lessened, and she let out a dry chuckle, "Isn't that sexual harassment, Agent Mulder?" she asked dryly. His eyebrows danced wickedly, "Only if you _want_ it to be, Scully." She reached out and lightly smacked his arm, "I'll bring my cell… but don't call unless you're on fire," catching his little smirk, she clarified with a snort, "I mean _literally._"

**_Smoothing her_** cardigan onto the carefully stacked clothing, Scully stretched across the bed and grasped the zipper, pulling her pilot case closed. She looked at her ticket once more before placing it in pocket of her coat. A trip to the little islands off the North Carolina coast would make good use of her days off. Normally, personal days meant holing up in her apartment on her couch, soothing classical music softly playing in the background, surrounded by stacks of the latest medical journals interspersed with the odd woman's magazine. She had too much on her mind, this time, to even begin to relax at home. Their case proved just as frustrating as anything else having to do with the Cigarette Smoking man, and leaving the missile silo empty handed further served her sense of futility.

Not to mention the fact that Mulder had made contact with Krycek… and she _hadn't_. And – inexplicably – she was worried. The degree to which Krycek hold her responsible for Mulder's impromptu Hong Kong trip remained to be discovered. In what manner would he exact his revenge upon her? She was concerned over what Krycek might have revealed to Mulder out of spite or anger; but if Mulder suspected any sort of communication between her and his worst enemy… well, he had become a much better actor than he'd ever been before. No; actually her relationship with her partner seemed to be back on an even keel… So, what was it – what concern nibbled at the edges of her mind, begging her attention?

The phone's shrill ring startled her; her heart raced as she abruptly picked up the receiver, answering barely above a whisper, "Scully." There was silence at the other end of the line…the kind of silence that gave away a presence at the other end. A shiver crawled up her spine as she cleared her throat, "I know someone is there, who _is_ this?"

An indrawn breath and then simply, "You must help him." The voice seemed familiar; with just a tinge of an accent she couldn't pinpoint. She quickly scanned her memory, searching for any trace of information to identify the owner of the voice, "Help who? Identify yourself." she commanded with more authority than she felt.

"I am… a friend, Agent Scully." Setting aside the question of the caller's identity, she attacked the immediate, "Tell me who I'm supposed to help, as you won't reveal your own name?" After a brief pause the caller continued, "A person in whom you have placed a newfound trust is in trouble."

Irritated, she burst out, "that tells me noth-," he interrupted, "Oh, but I think it does, Agent Scully. There are few in whom you place your hard-earned trust, and this man is one on whom your partner projects an inordinate amount of enmity." Krycek. She walked to the window, slanted the blinds to peek out, scanned the street, "where are you?" she bit out abruptly. The caller scoffed, "Miss Scully, my whereabouts are immaterial; the man to whom I refer is in serious danger, you haven't much time."

"What makes you think I can help?" she asked gruffly, but fear was prickling the back of her neck; Krycek was in trouble… and this man seemed to know of her relationship with him. "Your training is in medicine, is it not?" Her mind snagged on the way he pronounced the word as "med-sin"… _British._ Understanding dawned and she said flatly, "You and I have been in contact before… at a funeral." Her caller didn't acknowledge her statement, simply said, "Go back to Black Crow, Agent Scully. He's in grave danger, and he needs your help," and the line went dead.

**_Scully entered the _**airport terminal an hour and a half early. She reached inside her inner breast pocket and pulled the ticket out, fingering it nervously. Her contact should be arriving soon; Scully scanned the airport terminal for her. Walking determinedly to the appointed bank of seats, she claimed a place and waited; the only sign of nervousness the twisted napkin in her hands. She spotted Patricia first and fought the urge to raise her hand in greeting; the objective was to draw as little attention as possible. Patricia noticed her, gave a barely perceptible nod and took a seat a few feet away. She opened a soft cover copy of Dean Koontz's The Bad Place and began to read.

A few minutes later she looked up, distracted and caught Scully's eye. They smiled a mutual hello; Scully took her opportunity and said, "I've looked for reviews on that one – is it good?" Patricia smiled on cue and glanced down at the book in her hand, "To tell you the truth, it's not keeping my attention – I don't know why, I usually eat up a Koontz novel." Patricia casually moved over a couple of seats, to close the distance "I'm not so much reading it as _perusing_ it," she laughed and then extended it to Scully, "Here – you can thumb through it – see if you might like it." Scully opened the novel and deftly placed her airline ticket into the back of the book as she pulled Patricia's ticket out of the front, using it momentarily as a book mark. The switch was nearly flawless.

Scully flipped a few pages, pretending to read the book, "This actually looks like something I might like…" handing the book back to Patricia, "I'll have to pick it up at the gift shop." Patricia casually removed the switched ticket, smiled and handed the book back, "Take it – I know I won't finish it." Scully feigned surprise, then said, "May I pay you for it -," and Patricia cut her off with a wave of her hand, "Nah – just give it away when you've finished with it." Scully smiled, her eyes full of deeper meaning, "Thank you, for this," she bent down to retrieve her bag and whispered, "Enjoy the Outer Banks, Pat," stood and waved a friendly good-bye to her cousin.

Seated on the plane bound for Grand Forks, Scully had time to think about the rashness of her current situation. She had no reason to trust the British man; he'd told her someone close to her was going to betray her, and then her sister was shot. Now, he was telling her to help Krycek…but why? The man obviously possessed knowledge of her covert alliance, and was using it to manipulate her cooperation. That the man had tried to expose Krycek to her before made little sense, if he was indeed trying to _help_ Krycek now. Something was going on below the surface, and Scully intended to find out the nature of it all before it blew up in her face.

Momentarily, she thought of her cousin – and hoped all went well for her. Once Patricia landed in Norfolk International, she was to rent a car under her own name. The trail to Scully would end there. The precautions were set in place _only_ in the event that Scully's movements were being tracked. A remote possibility, true, but one which experience taught her needed to be covered, nonetheless. No… Pat would be okay, probably already well on her way to the barrier islands. Envy sizzled through her but she let it go; it was her choice to give up the chance for a 'vacation.' Forcefully, she turned her attention to the debacle at hand.

The abandoned missile silo was the logical place to start her investigation.. The Cigarette Smoker and his band of merry MIB's certainly seemed keen on getting rid of her and Mulder not ten days ago from that very site; it had to be the location to which the British Man referred. It didn't make any sense, _none _of it did; but then, the pull she felt to go help was more _intuitional_ than logical anyway. A pang of sadness spread through her; intuition was Missy's realm. She was finally following her sister's advice to follow her gut…but it was to help a man complicit in Missy's shooting. The irony was not lost on her.

Looking up, Scully realized the flight attendant was asking for her drink order. "Oh, uh…" she glanced at the cart, "do you have a diet cola?" The attendant smiled, popped open a can, asked, "cup with ice?" and on Scully's affirmative nod, efficiently scooped ice into a clear plastic tumbler and deposited it all onto the tray table. Scully raised the glass to her lips just as she noticed the napkin – it had something handwritten on it. She picked the napkin up and raised herself slightly to glance around at the surrounding seats. No one seemed even slightly interested in her. The attendant had moved steadily on, Scully craned her neck but only saw the back of her blonde head. To call out to her at this point would draw too much attention. She turned her attention back to the napkin. On it, handwritten in a neat block print was an address.

Scully bit the end of her thumb nail, pondering. Perhaps it was just a fluke. No one would know she was on this flight. She had switched tickets with her cousin. The official manifest would list Patricia Flynn as the passenger of seat 23B. It had to be someone working in tandem with the British Man. He simply assumed she'd be on the next flight out, and had someone waiting and watching for a woman of her description heading to North Dakota. They'd confirm her flight and board without her ever being the wiser. She looked at the address again; didn't recognize the name of the town. She could try the nearest field office to Black Crow to track down the address, but then the bureau would be alerted to her whereabouts and she preferred to keep this trip strictly confidential. She _could_ try the local police department… and not use her badge. Or, she could simply look up the damn address; all she'd need was computer access. Hell. She was getting entirely too jumpy.

Seeing the attendant approaching, Scully raised her hand slightly to grab her attention. The attendant flashed a warm smile and bent slightly at the waist. Scully lowered her voice to an almost whisper, "Excuse me… my napkin has an address hand-printed on it…" The attendant looked momentarily confused, "I gave you a used napkin? – I'm very sorry, ma'am-," Scully quickly placated her, "Oh, no – it's just -," and she held it up, "see? It has this address hand-printed on it – I just wondered if someone asked you to give to me?" The attendant smiled ruefully, "No… no one gave it to me… Maybe someone was doodling in the galley – I can find out for you…?" she asked helpfully. Scully shook her head, "no, thanks – it's probably just what you said…"

_Neither of them noticed the woman, who bore more than a passing resemblance to the attendant, exit the lavatory with a satchel tucked under her arm. The woman glanced around briefly and then reclaimed her seat. With a final glance toward the redheaded woman and the flight attendant, she placed her earphones on her head with a little shrug and reclined her seat. Dress like a flight attendant and drop a napkin on a passenger's tray? Whatever. Easiest two-hundred bucks she'd ever made._

"**_Well, Ma'am, that's_** the middle of nowhere, for sure," the gas station attendant scratched his head, "but you're on the right road," he said. Pointing to his left, he glanced at her encouragingly, "Just take that dog leg that veers off to the north and stay on that road, ma'am," he smiled affably, "you'll hit Featherton smack dap; can't miss it." Scully smiled through the tiny booth window and thanked him for his help. She sighed, feeling the fatigue from her trip.

It had been about an hour and a half since she'd left the scraggly edges of North Fork, heading due west. The location of the address, according to her internet search, was a backwoods area about thirty miles outside of Black Crow. The town was all but dried up; when the military abandoned the area, the economy of tiny neighboring Featherton took a dive.

Before she knew it, the green highway sign announcing _'Featherton, population: 876'_ appeared before her. She drove past a lone Dairy Queen and two convenience stores, several tiny houses tucked back into the lush tree line. There was only one traffic light! This was true, small-town Americana. If Krycek wanted to fall off the face of the earth, this would be the place to do so.

Up ahead on her right Scully noticed a hand-lettered sign proclaiming 'Diner' and steered her car into the dirt parking lot. As Mulder always said, if you want the hot line on gossip in a small town, head to the local diner. Glancing around just inside the door, she spotted a small table in the corner with a pretty good view of the place – that would do. A curvy young blond sped past her and said good-naturedly, "Just sit wherever you like; I'll be right with ya!" Scully headed toward the lone table.

Pulling out the menu – really an unnecessary waste of laminate, as they had standard diner fare – she quickly decided on a BLT. The pert waitress sallied up to her table, pulling her order pad out of her apron as she came to a stop, "What'll ya have?" she beamed. Scully couldn't help being effected by her sunny disposition and smiled in spite of herself, "I'll take a BLT, but may I have it on whole wheat toast?" The girl's nose squinched up appealingly as she smiled and said, "Sure! Everyone wants it on wheat nowadays!" Scully suppressed a chuckle and continued, "and an ice tea, please. That'll do it." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man dressed in green camouflage move heavily towards the counter. He glanced her way, but didn't seem to take more than passing interest in her. Still, something in the man's demeanor sobered her instantly.

Shortly, the waitress brought her order to the table, but hesitated. Scully looked up, her brows raised in anticipation, "Is…something wrong?" she asked the rapidly reddening young woman. "Uhm…" and the girl bent down to whisper, "that man at the counter asked if he could have a word with you…" she asked uncomfortably. Scully's eyes flicked towards him, but he was facing away from her. "Alright," she said slowly, "but only at my table." The girl backed away quickly and headed toward the man, delivering her message hastily. Just as fast, she disappeared into the kitchen.

The man rose from his chair and moved purposefully toward Scully's table. "Mind if I join you?" he asked. "Not at all," Scully replied, a tad impatiently. The man studied her a long moment, and then began to speak, "I know why you are here. I have been asked only to point you in the right direction, understand? I am not a guide. I will not take you to the site. I'm strictly here to serve as confirmation that you are on the right track, and to provide instruction in order that you can accomplish your goal and exit our area as quickly and quietly as possible. Am I clear?" Scully swallowed dry, and nodded in the affirmative.

He tossed a densely folded paper onto the table, tipped his hat and headed towards the door. He glanced back and said off-handedly, "I'd pick up some hiking clothes; there's a General Store 'round the corner, should have what you need."

She watched from the window as he disappeared. When the dust settled from his exit, she picked up the paper from the table, unfolded it and smoothed it down. It was a map. At the left edge a mark in red indicated the diner with a thick red line meandering away from it in a slightly northwest direction, ending at crudely drawn arrow. She judged it to be roughly twenty-five miles from where she sat. Bewildered, she glanced absently outside. So, this was the place.

An hour later, wearing heavily pocketed cargo pants, steel-toed boots and a fisherman's vest with more zippers than vest, Scully headed in the direction indicated on the map. The terrain was rough, and in addition to the hiking gear, she could have used a jeep. She finally reached a point where the car simply couldn't go any further. Estimating the rest of the distance, she figured she had about a mile and a half to trek on foot. Her hiking skills were rusty, but existent; at least she still knew how to use a compass. Debating a moment on whether or not to leave a note on the car, she decided against it – who would be out here? – took a deep breath and headed northwest.

The dense woods filled her simultaneously with wonder and foreboding; it was early afternoon, with plenty of light, but the trees dimmed it enough to give the feeling of an overcast sky. If she didn't hit something soon, she'd be forced to turn back. The temperature would dip – it was early spring – and at night could easily reach freezing. Every ten minutes, she gave it 'just another ten minutes,' until she was near giving up. She stood still and listened, alert for any sound, natural or man-made. No sound came. The stillness was unnerving. Making a wide arc to the left about twenty feet off her trail, she began to turn back the way she came. Scanning the area off to her right she suddenly stopped. There, in a rough clearing, stood a crude lean-to; in front of it, a small fire glowing. She felt the urge to whoop out loud in triumph, but stifled it and headed toward the rudimentary camp.

As she approached, she moved quietly, not sure of what she would find. She couldn't tell what was inside the lean-to, so she withdrew her gun, and crouched low, inching up to get a better look. About five feet away, a ragged cough erupted from the dark interior and she had to clamp down tight on a surprised yelp. Whoever _or whatever_ was under there didn't sound good. She stopped, kneeled on one knee, bracing her gun hand and called out, "Krycek?" Another cough issued in response. She stilled her breathing and said calmly, "I'm coming in and I'm armed; try anything and I _will _shoot." Slowly, she made her way under the lean-to, and had to suppress another gasp. The prone figure appeared to be Krycek…gaunt, twitching and glassy-eyed. She placed a hand on his forehead and he visibly flinched. "Dear God," she breathed, "what on earth _happened_ to you?" His eyes darted around almost sightlessly at the sound of her voice and his hand shot out, searching for hers. Grasping her arm he croaked out, "Scully?" She placed her hand over his, "yes, it's me… I'm here, Krycek…" and watched in horror as wracking sobs overtook his body.

_end chapter 10_

**AN:** I had to split this "episode" into two parts. It was simply too much to cram into one chapter. Once again, to anyone who is reading, whether or not you enjoy, please leave constructive critique – it helps a writer to improve. And if you enjoy, recommend the story to your friends! (/shameless plea for readership)


	12. If I Fell

**если я упал**

Scully looked down at the semi-conscious form below her; aside from a visible drop in weight and obvious shock, Krycek didn't _seem_ to be in critical condition. But without labs, she'd only be able to assess his visible symptoms. She placed her hand lightly on his forehead. He flinched slightly but she was able to determine he didn't have a high fever. Reaching behind her, she pulled her pack off and dug into the outside pocket, feeling for her penlight. Gingerly, she placed her fingers on his eyelid, gently opened his eye and flashed the penlight at his pupil. She quickly did the same to his other eye; both pupils were equal and reactive. Good; no severe head trauma, at least.

Sitting back on her heels, she tilted her head, observing him closely. She sat forward on her knees, and leaned down close to his face, "Krycek," she said softly. No response. A little louder, "Krycek – what happened?" His eyes rolled behind his lids and they fluttered open. "Scully… where – what are you doing here?" Taking his wrist in her hand, she said softly, "I'm giving you a field exam… but I need you to stay awake…" she held his gaze, "can you stay with me?" He gave a slight affirmative nod. His pulse was rapid, but strong. With both of his eyes open, she took the opportunity to study them more closely; his eyes were rimmed in red, and severely bloodshot. She swept the flashlight over his face and leaned in for a closer look; he had petechiae sprinkled over his cheeks. "Krycek… have you been throwing up?" His eyes went slightly unfocused, "You could say that…" he said cryptically. Her brows knit in concern, "have you had any fluids in the last four hours?" He struggled to sit up, looking around the lean-to, "there's a…uh… cooler-," he pointed towards his feet, and was seized by another coughing fit. She gently pushed him back into the makeshift cot, "Don't try to sit up just yet," she said soothingly, "I'll get it." She crawled across him and grasped the handle of the small cooler; it sloshed noisily. Whoever brought him here left him a reasonable quantity of ice. Enough to sustain him for a day or two.

She scooped a small ice cube into her fingers and nudged at his mouth, "here… suck on this – you need fluid." His eyes rolled open and he smiled gratefully. Opening his lips, he took the ice cube, lightly sucking her fingertips as he did so. The touch sent an unexpected shock of sensation shooting through her. She pulled away quickly, squeezing her hand shut on the unwelcome feeling. Glancing back quickly, she saw him watching her intently. "What's the matter, Scully?" he rasped. She shifted her eyes away, "Nothing," flexing her fingers, "just… getting cold, I think." He continued to watch her for a long moment, making an obvious effort to focus. Finally, he said huskily, "It's gonna get damn cold before too long," he grasped her wrist, held her gaze "…you shouldn't have come here…" he groaned and pulled her towards him. She lost her balance, falling beside him with a grunt, "what are you doing?" she asked, panic tingeing her voice. He let out a labored breath, "I'm sharing body heat," he said gruffly.

Scully lay there stunned, feeling his breath warm her neck. He snaked his arm around her, threading her fingers in his and bringing their joined hands up under her chin. Their bodies were pressed together from shoulder to ankle; uncomfortably close. She felt heat emanating off of him and despite the disparity of their heights, their bodies fit snuggly together. The sensual pull of his closeness was irresistible, unbearable. Scully drew in a shaky breath, "Krycek," she shuddered, "we can't stay here." She felt him shift, his arm tighten around her, "I'm not going anywhere," he stated flatly. Scully moved to sit up, but he restrained her. Even in his weakened state, his strength was surprising. She relaxed into his hold, he was obviously in shock. She made her voice calm, soothing, "Krycek… _Alex_…" She felt his heart rate pick up, heard his breathing quicken as she uttered his first name. "Scully…" he breathed quietly, "you don't know… the dreams…" he pulled her around, stared deep into her eyes, searching. She had the uncanny feeling he was going to kiss her; the same feeling that steeled over her in the church foyer. Suddenly, as if coming out of a dream, he said, "I'm sorry…I don't know… what…" his voice trailed off.

His gaze shifted downward, taking in his arms twined around her, "I'm holding you too tightly, Scully…" his throat constricted and he swallowed hard, "God… I could…" he let her go reluctantly and leaned back. She sat up, edged away to get some much needed distance. "The fire is getting low… we need to move soon," she said abruptly. "Where are we going," he surprised her with the question. "I need to get you to a hosp-," He shook his head, interrupted her, "No," he coughed sharply, "No hospitals." She was prepared for this argument, "Krycek. You _need_ medical attention." He shot back, "_You_ are a _doctor_." Now she shook her head, "I can't help you without proper equipment, access to a lab…" There was as stubborn slant to his mouth, "You won't win this argument, Scully," his eyes glittered dangerously, "I'm not going to a hospital." Her mouth dropped open, then snapped into a thin line, "What the hell do you suggest, then?!" Looking away he appeared to study the dirty roof, then turned toward her, "Where's your car?" he asked suddenly. She slanted a glance at him, "About a mile and a half southeast of here," she continued to eye him, "why?" He struggled to suppress another coughing fit as he sat up, "We get to your car, you take me to the nearest motel," he looked down at his hands, "leave me enough money to get by for a few days. I'll recuperate and disappear." He looked up at her, "I'll send you your money soon as I get access to mine." She studied him for a moment, noticing his watery eyes, intermittent shakes, the effort evident in even the smallest movement. "Do you think you can make it?" she asked, "to the car, I mean." He inclined his head at her, "A mile and a half?" he stretched out his legs, flexed his muscles, "Yeah… yeah, I think so." He didn't sound very convincing.

**_Two hours of _**trudging through dense woods with her patient leaning on her for support and Scully was ready to collapse. Krycek looked dead on his feet. Repeated glances at her compass told her they were heading in the right direction, but the car was still nowhere in sight. She helped him settle onto a fallen log, squinted into the increasing darkness and rubbed her hands over her eyes.

"Something's not right," she admitted. "I mean, I know we're moving pretty slowly," she looked at him, "but we should see the car through the trees over in that direction," she pointed off to their right. His eyes were closed and his skin had continued to grow paler since they'd started. She leaned over him and felt his forehead. He startled her when he opened his eyes suddenly and looked at her, "Scully… how did you find me?" She tried to keep the impatience out of her voice, "What – why do you ask?" His eyes narrowed, "You had no idea where I went after Mulder shanghaied me in the airport," his gaze hardened, "did you?" She bristled, "Look, Krycek," attempting to keep her voice even, "I don't know what you think, but I _did not_ tell Mulder you were going to Hong Kong. You and I both know that he is capable of making incredible leaps--."

"That's not important right now… Scully…Scully, stop talking for a minute!" he hissed. She stopped and looked at him expectantly. When he was sure of her attention he continued, "You knew right where to find me; how? How did you even know where to begin looking?" She said slowly, "I… I got a phone call… in the middle of pack—," she quickly looked away, "never mind… why?" He pushed himself off the log, shuffled toward her, "_Who_ called you, Scully? Who knows where you are?" There was menace behind his words; instinctively, Scully took a step back. Krycek simply closed the distance. "It was the older gentleman, the British Man," she stammered, "the one from the Consortium."

He swore softly, grabbed her hand and dragged her with him toward a dense part of the woods, his steps quickened by pure adrenalin. "Scully – I don't know why _any_ of them would send you on an errand like this," he turned and fixed her with a savage look, "_especially_ to help me" She stumbled in her effort to match his long strides, "Krycek, slow _down!_" He stopped and spun on her, swaying a little, "You are going to get yourself _killed_," he bit out, "they _took_ your car, Dana, and if they haven't wired it with explosives to kill you quickly, then they've gotten rid of it and left you out here to die slowly!" His faced was flushed with the first color she'd seen in him all afternoon, his eyes blazing with fury.

They faced off, breath ragged, boring a challenge into one another's eyes. He stepped swiftly toward her and she countered back, but not before he had a hold of her arm. His fingers bit into her flesh and he pulled her roughly towards him. He looked into her eyes, at her mouth, taking in every curve of her face. He was afraid; she saw it, and it scared her more than anything else. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, husky, "If I was in Mulder's place, you wouldn't be a part of his damned crusade. You'd be safe somewhere... where these men could never find you." She felt trapped and had to forcefully squirm out of his grasp, tear her eyes from his. "You're not and never will be the man Fox Mulder is, Krycek," she spit out, "so don't think you can compare yourself with him and come out the winner." Momentarily stunned, his eyes belied the impact her words had on him. "I may not be as fine a person as your partner, _Agent _Scully, but I don't routinely _endanger_ the people I love, either." He stared at her a moment then turned too quickly, stumbling a little. Steadying himself, he turned and tossed over his shoulder, "We have to make camp; I'm going for firewood."

**_They'd worked side_** by side in near silence, both stung and stubborn, mumbling monosyllables when conversation was necessary. The labor to get their camp set up was hard and tedious; Krycek was weak and had to take frequent breaks, a fact which caused his pride no small injury. He couldn't help but admire how hard she worked, how she wasn't given to complaint. He was concerned she might be overdoing it, but each time he asked if she was okay, she only said, "I'm fine," in a tone clipped but without hidden meaning. She was made of strong stuff, and he admired her all the more; if she hadn't sliced his heart out earlier, he'd have openly told her so. He didn't even want to think about why her opinion of him mattered so much.

He knew he couldn't stand the silence much longer, though.

"Are you warm enough?" he asked tersely. She looked up at him; the firelight gave her skin the look of smooth amber. "I'm fine," she murmured but caught his look, quickly asking, "What?" His face split into a wide smile, he said, "Nothing… it's just that, whenever I ask you how you're feeling, you answer, 'I'm fine' – even when it's obvious you're not." She looked away, embarrassed, "you made a good fire, Krycek," she evaded, tossing a stick into the blaze. He stared into the flames, imagining the heat seeping into his aching body, aided effectively by the thin silver blanket Scully had given him from her pack.

"Where'd you learn to pack a survival kit?" he asked then. She looked up mildly amused, "My father believed in preparedness." She stared into the fire, "I guess he instilled it in us, too." Krycek thought of his own father and smiled, "My father thought prepared meant an extra sandwich in your pocket." He chuckled at the thought. "Your _father_…" she asked in mock surprise, "Why, Krycek, I thought you hatched fully formed!" He snorted and rolled his eyes, "No, Scully, contrary to popular belief I came into the world in the…uh ..._natural_ way."

He sat up and poked at the fire, feeling her watching him. "What… what were your parents like?" she asked after a moment. He continued poking at the fire; "They were like any parents, I guess…" reached for a log and placed it carefully on the coals, "solid, steady… worked a lot – both of them… I have very few real memories of my mother. She died when I was young." She sat up and tucked her knees under her chin, "I'm sorry, Alex." He looked up, mildly surprised, "That's okay… I mean, it was a long time ago, right?" She nodded slowly. "How did your father cope – I … I assume you remained with him…?" He nodded, "Yeah… we… made do. My father worked… he was at a university," smiled wistfully, "he was the original 'Absent Minded Professor' –a scientist." She lifted her chin off her knees, "Was? He's no longer alive?" He looked over at her, his eyes unreadable, "No… he's dead." She stared at him but said nothing. "What?" he said, growing uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, Krycek… it's just… I'm trying to imagine you as a child. It's not easy to do." She curled herself back down into her blanket, yawned and studied him again, "Do you have any brothers or sisters?" she asked drowsily. "I'm the oldest of three," he said quietly, "a brother and sister. How about you?" he ventured, enjoying the ease of their conversation. Her mouth tightened just a bit, "an older brother, Bill…and a younger brother, Charlie," her voice wavered, "and my sister… Melissa." He felt his gut tighten at the mention of the name, lowered his eyes.

She asked him abruptly, "So… where did you grow up, Krycek?" He looked up, gauging her intently, "Why do you do that?" he asked mildly. Her brow quirked up, "Do what?" she said, matching his light tone. He looked across the fire at her, overcome with an urge to feel her next to him, to pull her close the way he had earlier, "You call me 'Krycek' like you're trying to..." he paused to weigh his words, "…as if you are trying to convince yourself that you're not really compromising all your principles by working with me…or something." He watched her face, waiting for a flash of anger, but her expression remained mild. "I don't…" she shivered, but held his eyes, "I don't think I give the subject that much thought… _Alex_." She looked cold... and she was entirely too far away. Krycek moved onto his side, propped his head on his hand, and studied her. "Come here," he said it simply, not pleading, but quietly matter of fact. She struggled with her decision only a moment, but then shrugged and moved over to him. He raised the edge of the survival blanket she'd given him and tucked her under it, curving his body into hers, twining their fingers together. "I wanted you back here all afternoon," he whispered into her hair. "Just shut up, Alex," she said softly, "or I'll go back to my own sleeping bag."

She'd only come to him for warmth, then. But… he'd take it.

The night pressed in around them; before long he could hear Scully's breathing fall into the regular pattern of deep sleep. He lay there feeling her warmth, drinking in her scent... the sensation oddly familiar. Wanting to keep the fire going, he'd only allow himself to nap for short intervals, waking every twenty minutes or so to check the fire and feed it a log, if needed. He did this several times during the night; each time tucking himself back around her sleeping form, feeling her curve into him unconsciously. It tightened his throat and sent the blood thrumming into his groin as he lay there exquisitely tortured throughout fits of wakefulness and sleep. His unanswered want for her – which had begun as only a vague intangible of his dreams – now settled into something a little more disturbingly permanent. He could break his heart over her... probably was already well on his way. It didn't matter anyway… she was pressed into him _now_… so he settled into the feel of her, the comfort…

The morning broke gently through the heavy tree cover. Somehow, incredibly, toward the early morning hours he was able to fall into a fitful sleep. Krycek blinked into the dim light and started to reach up and rub his still sensitive eyes. Only one arm would move; the other was pinned under Scully's hip. He fought the need to get up, weighing it against the desire to lie next to this perplexing, intoxicating woman for just a little while longer. Desire won out; he let his eyes drift shut against the brightening sky. He wasn't sure he'd even fallen back to sleep, until he felt a rough steel toed foot in his shoulder blade, "Wakey, wakey, sugar plum," a gruff male voice hissed. His eyes popped open, hand withdrew from under Scully, and he went into a roll, intending to come to a standing position, but their visitor shoved him back down on all fours with the same hard boot, "Not so fast sweety, what's your rush?" He looked up into a hard, unforgiving face, with no trace of warmth in the eyes.

Oh, this couldn't be good…

_End Chapter 11_

**AN: **Okay… best laid plans often go astray. This current _episode_ is taking a little longer than I thought it would. But then, it _is _covering roughly a week in the lives of Krycek and Scully. It _should_ finish up in the next installment. But I wouldn't _bet_ on that. Just sayin'.

The chapter titles in English: #9: Why, #10: Story of My Life, # 11: Cover Me, and #12 (this one): If I Fell.


	13. Goodbye Stranger

**Прощальный Незнакомец**

_Goodbye Stranger_

Scully's eyes shot open, taking in Krycek's wary look; she opened her mouth to ask him what was going on but swallowed her question at his sudden head shake. "I see the little woman is awake," a gruff voice mocked from behind her, "time to put the coffee on, dear." Krycek shot a warning look at her, and then looked up at their captor, "why don't we just keep this between you and me," he tried, "let her go – she won't cause you any trouble…" The man laughed harshly, "Isn't that nice, protecting your woman." Scully heard the rustle of clothing, a hard nudge at her back, "rise and shine, Red, day's a wasting." She sat up slowly, turning to get a look at their unwelcome visitor. He was dressed similarly to the man who approached her in the diner – green camouflage, bill cap and heavy work boots. He had the cruel look of a man who'd known too little kindness in his life, a man disposed to careless violence. She felt her stomach take another dip.

Despite Krycek's non-verbal warnings, she felt compelled to explain their situation. "One from your camp told me where to find this man," she looked at him imploringly, "I was told to get him out of here as soon as possible…but my car…" He leaned in fast, his face inches from hers, "I don't care what you _thought_ you were doing, sweet cakes," the corner of his mouth lifted, "but you're gonna do what _I_ say now." She glanced over at Krycek, flicked her eyes, _'sorry.'_ They sat there in tense silence for a moment, then the man grunted, "Get up." Krycek rose quickly and Scully hastily followed his lead. "Sit with your backs together," the man ordered, gesturing with his rifle. They followed suit, and he began to tie them together, effectively trussing them both. "You two lovebirds sit tight, now, I'll be back soon," he bent down in Scully's face, "try not to miss me too much, Red," and planted a rough kiss on her mouth before she could turn her head, then stalked into the woods.

"Are you okay, Scully," Krycek asked, craning his neck. The movement caused the ropes to bite into their flesh. She gasped, but as expected said a tight, "I'm fine." Krycek stilled himself forcefully, stifling the spike of rage, _if he hurts her…_ He flexed his fingers, found her hand, squeezing her fingers gently, "Scully," he breathed quietly, "listen to me," he relaxed himself, increasing the slack in the ropes, "don't say _anything_ unless he asks you a direct question. Let me negotiate with this nut job," he heard her inhale sharply, went on quickly, "I know his kind, Scully; I'm asking you to trust my instincts. Okay?" He felt her nod, and heard a quiet, "I'll try." The man came back with two others, one of whom Scully recognized as the man from the diner. His eyes darted to her face, registered a brief look of warning then became unreadable. She almost said something, but seeing the implied threat in his eyes, thought better of it.

The man who'd tied them up walked up to them, pulled on the ropes, sending bolts of pain through them both, "Everybody comfy?" he sneered. The man from the diner shifted anxiously and stared hard at them. "What the hell are you doing out here? This isn't exactly a hot vacation spot," he said. Another gentle squeeze to Scully's fingers, and Krycek spoke up, "You've got questions, I'll give you answers. Just… let her go." Scully balled up her fist and said, "This man is very ill and in need of medical attention… I came here to find-." The third man, quiet till now, interrupted her, "Who sent you, ma'am?" She was momentarily taken aback by the directness of his question, but recovered, mindful of the gentle pressure of Krycek's hand around her fingers, "No one… he's a… he's a _friend_," she struggled to keep her voice steady, "he was supposed to check in with me. When he didn't, I came looking." Krycek loosened his hold a bit. The third man knelt down in front of her, "You should be more careful, then, about the _friends_ you pick, ma'am," he glanced over his shoulder at the other two, "these men found your... _friend_ locked up tight in an abandoned government property not far from here." He rocked back on his heels, "seems your _friend_ here has some enemies in some very high places. Those _enemies_ might find their way to _you_, if you aren't careful." Scully felt Krycek's muscles tense against her back. This was the reason for his weakened condition; _he'd_ been the secret the smoking man was guarding in Black Crow. So another X-file would, yet again, be amended to include the name of Alex Krycek.

The cruel man sat down against a tree and stared holes into Scully. He made her feel uncomfortable; it made her glad of Krycek's presence. The man from the diner shifted and leaned down to speak to the third man quietly. Scully watched warily; she was sure now that the diner guy had acted independently when he sought her in the diner… he seemed watchful, and hadn't said much. The third man looked over at them periodically as the diner guy whispered quietly to him; his face was unreadable, though. Krycek had grown extremely quiet; she gave her fingers a slight wiggle and he squeezed back. Good; he was still with her. He was likely thinking the same as she – they had few options, and none of them particularly feasible. They were, in a word, screwed.

Krycek studied the three men, taking in as much information as he could. The guy who tied them up was a cruel son of a bitch, but he was also ignorant and given to impulsivity; Krycek could take him down if given the chance. No problem there. The third man, the one who'd done all the questioning, was calm, quiet and methodical; he was obviously the leader. He was the man Krycek would deal with then. The guy who'd hung back quietly leaning up against the tree … he was the wild card. Krycek could get no bead on him whatsoever. His eyes were unreadable, and in spite of his intimidating size, his demeanor was carefully calculated to completely blend in to the background. Krycek surmised the man had professional training. He would be the challenge.

Suddenly, the leader walked over to the man sitting against the tree and nudged his foot. He leaned down, said something unintelligible and headed into the woods. The man grunted and rose grudgingly to his feet, trudged after the leader. Scully looked quickly over at the diner guy, noticed that he watched the woods intently. He pushed off the tree and moved over to her purposefully. "Why are you still here? You were told to clear the area ASAP," he said. Scully twisted her face up toward his, "We would have cleared the area, but someone _misplaced_ my car." She felt Krycek tense again, "Scully – how do you know this man?" he hissed. She took in a deep breath, braced herself, "I don't," she almost whispered, "He approached me in a diner and gave me a map with directions to the place where I found you." The man from the diner peered nervously into the woods. "We don't have much time, they'll be back shortly." He looked directly at Scully, "You need to make yourself scarce, ma'am." She stared back at him. "What about him?" she indicated Krycek with a nod of her head, "I'm not leaving here without him." Krycek felt a knot tighten his throat; he was irritated… and oddly touched. The diner guy gave an impatient shake of his head, "No – that's not an option." Krycek broke in, "Scully, listen to him – you've got to get out of here. They give you a chance, you -." Suddenly the man moved away from them toward the fire; through the trees, a lone figure approached.

As the leader reached their camp – without the cruel bastard, thankfully – the diner man gestured toward the fire, "Cap – you want me to throw another log on that fire? It's getting low." 'Cap' nodded affirmatively and set a scuffed duffle on the ground. "I sent Mort back to base," he said. The other man nodded, bent low to pick up a log and shot a meaningful look toward Krycek. He stood watching the sparks fly from the fire. "Decided on those two, yet?" he asked. The leader reached into the duffle and pulled out a small device that resembled a square PDA and a cylindrical-shaped object. He fingered a small button on the cylinder and a small tripod opened at the bottom. Placing this on the ground, he then powered up the small device. Studying the small screen, Cap frowned and shook his head slowly. "They're on the move, Atchison; we're going to have to make a decision. Soon," he said. 'Atchison' stepped away from the fire and joined Cap in a crouch, glancing at the small screen over his shoulder. Cap rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I'd like to keep this current situation just between you and me; how 'bout it?" Atchison looked over at Krycek and Scully, nodded affirmatively. "We can come up with some explanation for him… but she's the problem," he said. Cap nodded, "Yeah, and Mort can't keep his damn mouth shut as it is. That's a problem, as well." The two men stood and walked out of earshot.

Scully kept her eyes on the them; they were deep in conversation and not likely to pay them any notice. "Krycek… were you locked in that missile silo?" she asked. He sighed heavily, "I woke up in a dark shit-hole, Scully, with no memory of how I got there, or how I got out. I thought I was dead. And then I wasn't." She felt him slump a little against her, "If you say it was a missile silo, then it was a missile silo. I don't remember much, to tell the truth." She glanced over towards the men. They had moved further into the woods, obscuring her view of them. "What's the last thing you _do_ remember?" she asked. He sighed again, shook his head. "Your partner beating me in the face with a telephone…" he ground out. "The next thing I recall is you, materializing in the woods." Stretching her neck and leaning back as far as she could gave her a slim look at his profile. Her mouth was close enough to his ear that he could feel the warm puffs of her breath on every exhale. "Krycek, you're not telling me the truth," she said quietly.

He shifted to look directly at her, their faces so close it blurred his vision. She was right; he wasn't telling her the _whole_ truth. To do so would mean reliving hell and it was still too close to allow for any rational discussion. "I'm telling you all I'm able to, Scully." Their eyes remained locked for a moment, an indefinable look passed between them. He drew in a shallow breath and noticed Scully's hitched at the same time. "Scully…I-." He was interrupted before he could finish the thought. Krycek shifted his eyes toward the two men walking back towards them, noticing the leader held Scully's pack in his hand. It was sagging open. "Scully," he whispered, "Did you have any identification in that bag?" Understanding slowly crept over her face. "Oh, God… yes…"

Cap stalked toward them, his mouth set in a grim line. He flipped open her FBI badge in her face as he crouched in front of her. "Well, now. This puts a whole new wrinkle in things, doesn't it?" Tossing the badge back into her bag, he reached down and began untying their ropes. "Atch, watch that guy," he ordered over his shoulder. Atchison stepped up, pointing the rifle suggestively in Krycek's direction. Cap held Scully's wrists at her back in his hand and pulled roughly to get her to her feet. She stood wincing at the pain in her shoulders. "Move!" he growled. Krycek came to his feet, "NO! no- no- no – where are you taking her?" But Atchison shoved the gun barrel at his chest. "Sit back down, Mr…?" Krycek hesitated only a moment. "Arntzen," he said. Atchison nodded his head toward the ground, indicating he should sit. He strained to see past the big man toward the direction Cap had taken Scully. "I believe I'll stand, if it's all the same to you," he bit out. Atchison shoved the barrel tighter against his chest. "You should be extremely cautious, Mr. Arntzen," he hissed. "Your girlfriend has put us _all_ in a very bad position." He shifted uneasily and stared into the woods. "I guess you're FBI, too?" he sneered. Krycek snorted, "No. I _used_ to be." As he forcefully pushed the dark visions of Scully's predicament out of his head, the beginnings of a plan started to gel in his mind. "You could say I was _dishonorably discharged_…" he said cryptically.

Atchison had started to pace back and forth, but the last comment caught his attention. "What do you mean, _'dishonorably'_?" he asked. Krycek fought the urge to rush him; he knew he wasn't up to the fight. "Cut the crap, man – what the hell is he doing to her?" he bit out. He _needed_ the man to believe that he had something to offer him but didn't want to appear too eager. Atchison took the bait. "Were you FBI?" Atchison drew each word out slowly, "did you go AWOL?" Krycek stared at him, attempting to look dumbfounded, "What? – Answer my question! What's he doing to Scully?" he asked. Atchison thrust his face into Krycek's. "YOU, answer ME!" he demanded. Krycek, looking confused, slumped down to the ground. "I… I was an agent… fresh out of the academy," he stared into the distance, "a man approached me – a powerful man – said my country needed me, for …for 'special' service." He looked down at his feet a moment in silence; waiting. "And? – What then?" Atchison prodded. Krycek looked up, his face dejected. "I found out I wasn't serving my country, as I thought. I was serving greedy men, bent on sucking this country dry. My life hasn't been the same, since. I've been lied to, cheated; they've attempted to kill me several times…" he let his voice trail off.

_All of it – all the truth,_ Krycek thought. Except he wasn't actually the disillusioned, whipped dog, perfect-candidate-for-militia-recruit that he was fabricating for this man's benefit. Not even close. He glanced again at Atchison for effect. "I'm not exactly _loyal_ to these quote-unquote _government_ bureaucrats," he finished. Atchison nodded his head in the general direction that Cap lead Scully, "But she _is_?" he asked. Krycek lowered his head. "She's… she's different," Krycek said softly, infusing just the right amount of feeling in his brief statement. Atchison was getting impatient. "What do you mean?" he asked. Krycek looked out into the woods. "We met in the Bureau – she and I had the same partner, at different times… it wasn't strictly against the rules, see, because we were never partners…" he said; waiting, letting the insinuation take root. The man's face suddenly relaxed with understanding, "I take it the Bureau doesn't know she's involved with you…?" he asked. Krycek turned quickly, looked the man in the eyes. "No --," he rushed, "her career would be over. Finished."

Atchison nodded thoughtfully, opened his mouth to speak but stopped. Scully stumbled out of the woods, closely followed by Cap. She sported the beginning of a bruise on her cheek and a small dab of blood at the corner of her mouth; her eyes were hard and her mouth a thin line of determined rebellion. Before his mind could fully engage, Krycek rushed forward cursing, only to be shoved back swiftly by Atchison's rifle butt to his chest. "Sit tight, Mr. Arntzen; you're on thin ice as is," he said. Atchison's meaningful look toward Scully stopped him in his tracks. Cap pushed Scully toward Krycek, fixing him with a dangerous look. "You two have become a serious pain in my ass," he bit out. Krycek stepped toward Scully, unconsciously putting himself between her and Cap. He glared at the man. "I'm going to kill you with my bare-," the back of Cap's fist cut him off in mid-sentence. Cap grabbed him by the collar and shoved hard, both of them toppling to the ground. He threw his forearm across Krycek's throat, leaned in close. "You're not in a position to issue threats, my friend," he rasped. Krycek struggled to throw the bigger man off, panting with the effort. "Get off me," he snarled. Cap gave him another shove under the chin and raised his fist, but Atchison stopped him in mid-arc. "Cap… We need to talk," he said simply.

He pushed himself up, giving Krycek a hard jerk of his collar. "Sit here, and shut up!" he ground out between clenched teeth and stalked over to join Atchison at the fire. Krycek cautiously got to his feet and moved toward Scully. She flinched as he touched her elbow. "Scully?" he gingerly placed his hand on her shoulder and she twisted away from him. "Don't!" she hiccupped and he knew then that she was fighting tears. He felt unequal to the task of comforting her. "Dana…did he… are you okay?" he asked. Knowing the answer before it ever left her lips, he reached his arms around her and pulled her to his chest. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry" he soothed. They stood there a moment, slightly swaying before she pulled herself away. "He wants to know our 'mission,'" she said quietly, "I just repeated what I said earlier." She had herself under command now and related the interrogation calmly. "He didn't believe that my being an FBI agent was just an unfortunate coincidence. This," she waved her hand at the bruise coloring her cheek, "was an 'incentive' to be more forthcoming." At Krycek's look, she said, "his words; not mine." He touched her cheek carefully, "Do you think it's broken?" he asked. Tracing her fingers down the line his just made, she winced but shook her head. "No… it's not broken… the bruise'll heal before I'm due back at..."

"Step away from each other." Cap ordered as he walked towards them. "Atch tells me that you are a _former_ government agent, Mr. Arntzen." he questioned. Scully's brow shot up at the mention of the name 'Arntzen' and she looked quickly toward Krycek. He avoided her glance and instead turned his attention toward Atchison. "You've got a big fucking mouth, Atchison!" He lunged toward the man and caught him by surprise. Cap was quicker and collared him before he could land a punch. Atchison merely glared at him. "Back off, Arntzen – I don't owe you jack. I pulled your sorry ass out of that hell hole; you mewling like a damn baby -." Cap stepped between the two. "Shut up, both of you." he said sharply. He turned toward Krycek, "Are you interested in some freelance work?" he asked abruptly. Krycek feigned surprise. "What the hell are you talking about?" he countered. Cap smiled slowly and offered his hand. "We are a group of," he seemed to choose his words carefully, "…dissatisfied former believers in the American Dream, Mr. Arntzen… exercising our right to… express dissent. Sounds like the Dream may have fucked you, too." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small cigar, lit it carefully. "There might be a place for you in our group," he said through a cloud of smoke. Krycek eyed him speculatively, taking his time with the decision. _Another fucking smoker,_ he thought. He nodded in Scully's direction. "The only way I'll consider it is if you guarantee her safe release." Cap glanced in her direction, visibly weighing his options. "Listen, I let her go, she's got all our current coordinates… she's seen too much." Krycek simply shook his head. "You take her down and you're gonna have more heat on you than just one crazed lover. I won't deal unless she's safe – and you _won't_ be, unless you let her go. She won't talk. I guarantee it." Cap looked long and hard at Scully, finally turned toward Krycek and nodded.

Still holding Krycek's gaze, he called out, "Atch – I want you to escort Ms. Scully back to town. See that she leaves. Safely." he said. Atchison lowered his rifle and turned toward Scully. "Guess you're free to go," he said. She looked quickly from Atchison to Krycek, noting that he avoided her gaze. She inhaled sharply. "I'd like my pack," she said simply. Cap bent, picked it up and tossed it to her. Catching it handily, she looked up and saw Krycek staring at her. He looked away quickly. "I hope you know what you're doing, Alex." she said pointedly. Atchison stepped tentatively toward Scully, "Ready?" he asked. She locked eyes with Krycek, held his unreadable gaze and said simply, "I'm ready."

**_Sitting in the _**Eau Claire airport, Scully thought back over the events of the last three days. The long drive from Featherton to Eau Claire in the car rented in Gerald Atchison's name afforded nothing but time to reflect. Yet she could not. It wasn't until she sat in this airport – a terminal so similar to the one she sat in waiting for her cousin just (_was it?_) three days ago – that she was able to examine the pieces of the surreal journey she'd just traversed. By her count, Krycek had now put himself on the line for her twice. She supposed this current errand had been an attempt to try and even the score with him. Yet, she'd been called to it by a man she barely knew, and had little reason to trust. Still… she'd accepted. Why? She'd come back empty handed. No Krycek… and no real answers. Yet she was left with so many more questions. 'Why?' began all of them. She feared the questions almost as much as the answers… because all of them centered, increasingly, around one man.

Alex Krycek.

_End Chapter 12_


	14. Hello Friend!

**Здравствулте! Друг**

_-Hello! Friend-_

AN: _This one's an experiment of sorts. It departs from the usual format and is somewhat a "journal" of the time Krycek was with the militia. He didn't write it down or anything (leave no records, after all) …but since I was tailing him, I did. (wink) This covers about 8 or 9 months, so there's a lot of ground to cover. Scully is nowhere to be found in this (and the following chapter) –well, except in Krycek's dreams – because we already have record of how she spent her time. Chasing MOTW's with Mulder. Oh… and getting nose-bleeds._ 

**0326 hours, Day 1:**

His head was so heavy, but if he let it drop the vicious dude prodded him with the stun gun, so he kept nodding and wrenching his head upright.

That was initiation.

**1652 hours, Day 10:**

Most of the effects of Krycek's time in the silo had diminished. The burning in his eyes was almost gone; the petechiae and dull pain in the back of his head had disappeared. Dehydration was no longer a problem. The medical technician pronounced him fit for "the second phase of training."

Whatever that meant.

**0458 hours, Day 15:**

Training was bullshit. Basically, it was calisthenics set to a wanna-be drill sergeant loudly decrying the 'imperialist' United States Government, and the academic elitists that ruined this once great country.

Krycek kept his mind detached from the reprogramming techniques by trying to recall the exact shade of Dana's hair when the sun hit it in the late afternoon.

**0047 hours, Day 23:**

Staring up at the ceiling willing sleep to come, Krycek thought of her. Like so many nights in the weeks he'd been spinning his wheels in the wilds of North Dakota this one afforded no easy rest, no respite. His days were beginning to run together, packed as they were with meaningless training, petty (and not so petty) thievery, and endless plots; topped off with discussions on the genius of The Unabomber's Manifesto. (What the fuck?)

His nights were miserable. The taste he'd had, the two days he'd spent under the care of Dr. Dana Scully only whetted his appetite for more. He wanted to plumb the depths of her care for him, find out the nature of it.

It was, he thought with regret, a luxury that would be denied him.

**0200 hours, Day 57:**

"You must be a very valuable player," Atchison broke the silence, "A lot of powerful men have quite an interest in your welfare." He looked at Krycek, bemused, "Shortly after you were dumped in that hell-hole, the British Man contacted me, told me there was an extremely critical situation. Said I had to find any means necessary to convince my associates to search that abandoned silo. Even gave me the right number… '1013' he said. Told me that due to special circumstances you would last longer than most humans, but at the outside, you had maybe a week." He looked over toward Krycek, expectantly. Krycek just looked at him. "Apparently you're important enough to risk blowing my _own _cover…" his irritation poked through his words.

Krycek chose to ignore his complaint and said mildly, "That's an interesting fairy tale, Atch," he grinned, "what 'British Man' – you mean Prince Charles?"

Atchison was undeterred, "You know what I'm talking about, Arntzen…"

Something in the man's eyes got Krycek's attention. Maybe time was wearing down his defenses. Then again, maybe not. He tried another tepid denial, "Lay off the booze, you're having delusions, man."

"Cut the shit, Arntz –," he looked around warily, "we're safe."

"_You_ cut the shit," Krycek relaxed a little into the balled up duffle propping his back, "You're not CIA," he said, "Cut the cloak and dagger crap."

Atchison flashed his teeth quickly, "No, _comrade_ – I'm certainly not CIA," he tossed the remains of his coffee into the embers and looked back up at Krycek, "I'm justlike you" he said, "a sucker who got tired of the bullshit a long time ago"

Krycek looked at him for a long moment. After almost two months with the militia group, it was the first time he and Atchison had been assigned to night watch at the same time. Krycek found Atchison's current talkativeness incongruous… to say the least. After his induction into the group there'd been no time for him to size the man up. They'd been assigned to different splinter groups and sent on almost constant – _he nearly always laughed at_ _the term_ – 'reconnaissance missions.'Atchison's sudden inquisitiveness made Krycek even more wary of him – just who was he in the vast web of the Syndicate, and how did he come to know of the Smoking Man's botched attempt – the _second_ one – to bury him permanently. And why was the British Man suddenly interested in him, an infamous ex-protégé of the Smoker, anyway? And why the hell would he contact _Dana_ of all people to help him?

He cleared his throat quietly, "And who, exactly, do you think I am, Atch?"

For the briefest moment, Krycek saw uncertainty flicker in the other man's eyes. "I'm fairly certain that you're involved in the same group that I am," he said. "Aren't you even remotely interested in what I know? It might even be useful for us to partner up, watch each other's back…"

Krycek snorted, "I don't need anyone watching my back – too easy to shove a knife in."

The man glared at him a moment, expelled a breath between clenched teeth and shoved himself off the ground, "Listen, man, I like you. You work your ass off, don't complain and, most importantly, you keep your mouth shut." He kneeled down and poked the fire into a last hurrah, then eyed Krycek, "I'm sensing a change in the weather, and what I'm picking up? I don't like," he gestured with his canteen, "If one of the old men tried to take you out, and another old man risked _bailing_ you out," he leveled a dark look at Krycek, "that means the Syndicate is unstable. I don't like it," he repeated, almost as an after-thought.

Krycek considered a moment; maybe there was something to what the guy said, after all. He'd have to think about it later. "I'll tell you this, Atch," he said after a long pull on his own canteen, "I don't know what the hell you're talking about," he looked directly into the man's eyes, "but if I ever stumble upon this Syndicate of yours, I will find a way to teach them a lesson. But I'll do it alone." He bared his teeth in a smile that didn't reach his eyes, "You can bet on that."

Atchison shrugged and remained quiet. They both sat in wary silence, ears tuning to the night sounds. Atchison shifted closer to the fire and asked, "What about that woman? What was her name," he squinted into the firelight, "Skelly? -- What is she to you?"

If Krycek had been used to more polite company, the question might have pissed him off. But he wasn't, and the query seemed merely natural, under the circumstances. "She's just what I said she is," he paused briefly in his own growing uncertainty, "a friend." The truth was Krycek didn't know what to think of 'Skelly' anymore. The dreams hadn't ceased, only grown more frantic; melodramatic. He didn't want them when they came, and mourned them in the gathering dawn if they didn't. Exquisite torture. Caught like a madman between what he wanted and what he could get. Sometimes, though, he thought his desire for her was the only thing that kept him sane. "She's not a subject open for discussion; understood, Atch?" the threat was delivered with a smile, but secured his point nonetheless.

"Understood," Atch surprised him, "can't do any good thinking about her when you can't see her… talk to her…" his voice trailed off and he grew very quiet. Krycek suspected the man's pensiveness was due to some similar torture. It made him feel the slightest simpatico for the guy. But only the slightest. He was still one nosy bastard.

**1300 hours, Day 98**

He'd worked it over completely in his mind before he even thought about talking to Atchison. The more he thought about Atchison's hypothesis that something was shifting within the Syndicate, the more it made sense. The more it made sense, the more he wanted to _do_ something about it; be in on the revolution and – _hopefully_ – come out somewhere near the top. The problem was, as always, with the company he kept. Could he trust him? Hell – never mind that question, he _knew_ the answer – never trust anyone. Could he allow himself enough blind faith to just cooperate with the guy? That was the real question. He didn't know if he wanted to align his fate with this other man… but then he didn't see a way out of his current situation if he _didn't._ Atchison's connections were apparently still intact; Krycek's were definitely a bust.

He felt himself slipping. He'd begun to drink more heavily, an indulgence he rarely allowed himself, but which numbed his senses enough to allow him to play war games with his current group. All the pointless, fist-in-the-air, pseudo-rebellion they indulged in only further highlighted the futility of their fight; they were screwed – just like everyone. And it wasn't by the government. _At least, not any more._

He'd always prided himself on his ability to fearlessly think on his feet in any situation and take immediate action, get out of any jam. As the months slowly passed his mind had begun to dull, and with it, his senses.

Two recent incidences stood out in his recollection that increasingly gave him concern. One of the more green members of the group had actually startled him, simply walking up from behind. He didn't even know the guy was approaching until he was _there._ His mind was elsewhere. Bad enough, but even more of a concern was his newfound panic of confined spaces. Especially _dark_ and confined spaces. Day before yesterday, he'd not been quick enough to prop the self-locking door to the munitions bunker before it banged shut on him, leaving him in complete darkness. Underground darkness. He was able to mask the utterly unfamiliar feeling of sheer terror behind a heavy stream of very loud, very filthy language, and was only confined for a mere few moments when someone heard him and opened the door. But it was long enough to recognize that he was now dealing with some weird psychological shit that he'd heretofore been blessed without. Not exactly conducive to his lifestyle.

Fuck. He had to make contact with someone on the outside. Soon.

**1100 hours, Day 110**

Krycek dug into his plate, shoveling food in his mouth with scarcely a thought for what he was eating. He watched Atchison out of the corner of his eye and waited. When the man rose from the table and moved toward the exit, Krycek rose calmly and followed him. Just before they reached the door, Atchison saw him and opened his mouth in greeting. Quickly and quietly, Krycek preempted him, "I'm ready to talk." A momentary spark of interest lit the man's eyes but was quickly squelched as he gave a small nod. They headed for the tac room across the quad, but stopped short just before they reached the door. Mitchell, one of the lead guys on an equipment raid scheduled for the evening stood talking at the entrance to the tactical room. Krycek attempted to turn before Mitch spotted them, but was too late.

Mitch finished up his conversation and turned toward them expectantly, "Well, men, how's the plan shaping up for the evening?"

Atchison deftly and coolly diverted Mitch with an easy lie; something about a small problem reading some schematics for the air ducting in the military installation. "Nothing that can't be worked out," he assured him, as he waved off Mitch's offer to take a look at it. "We've got it," he said. Krycek was mildly impressed with the man's seamless delivery and cool exterior. Couldn't have done it better himself.

Mitch left them to 'fix it,' his customary, vague command. Atchison watched the man retreat and let out a disgusted breath, following Krycek into the entrance, "these guys don't know their asses from a hole in the ground…" he caught Krycek's eye and grinned, "I've been here three and a half years. Nuff said."

Krycek's eyebrows shot up, "Three _years_?" he blinked, letting his eyes adjust to the dim room, "how have you maintained your sanity?"

Atchison ignored his question, lifted the blind with a finger and peered out, "Look, I understand your caution, and reluctance to reveal too much," he looked over at Krycek, "so I'll make it easy; I'll do all the talking – you just listen," he spread his palms in front of him, "that sound doable?" Krycek looked him in the eye and nodded his assent.

The corners of Atchison's mouth turned up slightly, "Let's just _pretend_ you know of the Syndicate, okay?" He drew up a chair to the window as Krycek sank into the squeaky cushion of the vinyl couch. "I don't know the guy that issued your death sentence – the British Man calls him 'Hunt' – but I _do_ know the British Man doesn't like him very much, and would very much like to be rid of him." He glanced quickly out the blind again, "He thinks you've been misled, and would like to see you reinstated in the Organization," he glanced over at Krycek, "but under _his_ patronage, this time. Thinks your – how'd he put it? – _finer talents_ are being wasted." The corners of his mouth quirked up, "What might those be, brother?" Krycek merely stared at him. "Right," he cleared his throat, "He knows, by the way." He stopped, waiting for Krycek to take the bait.

Krycek let out an impatient sigh, "Alright… I'll bite. He knows what?"

Atchison smirked as he glanced back out the window, "he knows about you and the red-head. It's why he sent her."

Krycek shifted on the couch, brought his elbows up to rest on his knees and cupped his chin, "So?" he said simply.

Atchison let his hand drop from the blinds and swiveled around to him, "No. He _knows,_" he leveled a gaze at him, "She's not your girlfriend."

Krycek forced his breathing to still, "Yeah, so?" Atchison looked down at his hands, "She's up to her neck in this and she doesn't even know it. There's shit happening with her, crazy shit. Being linked with you might kill her."

"How did he make any connection between us?" Krycek tried to keep the agitation out of his voice, "And why does it matter?" He willed himself to stay calm.

Atchison looked up, "I'm on a need to know basis. And I guess I didn't need to know the answers to those questions. Sorry." He shook his head slowly, "All I can tell you, is that you have a place of importance within what, very soon, may be a restructured Syndicate. If you want it. I'd at least investigate the possibilities, if I were you."

Krycek stood and moved over toward the door, "You didn't answer my question," he said.

Atchison turned from the blinds, briefly, "Which? Oh– how I got in this group?" turning back to the blinds, "I was sent here, by the British Man as soon as that thing was placed in the missile silo." He fingered the cord, tugging at is slightly, "He was concerned that Hunt was getting a little too comfortable acting independently, thought maybe an inside man – _his _inside man – near the area would be a good idea. And here I have remained, stagnant." He grinned at Krycek, "Well, until you showed up."

Krycek shook his head. He couldn't fathom how a man who seemed of above average intelligence and more than qualified for more interesting assignments could rate a shit job like this one. Even more incredible that the man seemed relatively well-adjusted in spite of the inequity.

It was more than Krycek could say for himself.

**0042 hours, Day 111**

He lay there awake, staring at the black expanse of ceiling above his head, and going over the earlier conversation exhaustively. There was a schism in the Syndicate, then; between the Smoker and the British Man. Interesting. Even more interesting was the thought that the British Man felt that Krycek's finer talents were being wasted. He almost snorted aloud at that one. No one had cared for longer than he could remember about his higher functions. That he actually held a Masters degree in Foreign Policy. That he'd graduated from University with honors. (Funny, it just never seemed to come up during the course of violent interrogations or torching medical facilities of questionable repute.) He was also an accomplished athlete and tough as nails, with a high threshold for pain. As with so much in life, his course had been determined by the sheer influence of physical attributes over any actual talents he might possess.

Standing and groping the nightstand for his flashlight, he realized that he was feeling sorry for himself. The game was going on, but he was sidelined. No, he wasn't even sidelined – he was confined in some remote spot with no cable or antennae where he couldn't even _watch_ the game being played. To a man of Krycek's _finer talents_ (not to mention his innate competitiveness) this was unacceptable.

Sliding his hand lightly along the paneling, Krycek moved easily in the dark. At least he hadn't lost _that_ ability. Reaching the door, he snapped on the flashlight to light his way to the kitchen in the main house. Little midnight raids on the leftover turkey and the odd cinnamon roll had become something of a ritual of late. He didn't sleep, so he'd taken to eating. The slight roll around his middle attested to the fact that he was slowly becoming one of them In the middle of the rocky path, Krycek stopped dead. "That habit stops now," he thought.

Just as he was turning to head back he heard Cap call out to him, "Nice night for a walk." Cap leaned against the main house back door, leisurely smoking one of his noxious mini-cigars.

"Yeah, couldn't sleep… thought about eating," he grabbed a handful of his side and shook it, "Decided against it." Krycek eyed Cap, trying to figure if he was spying on him. He decided against that, too. He'd been 'a good soldier,' and played by the rules. Spying would be a waste of resources.

Cap chuckled through a cloud of smoke, "Yeah, Claire's cooking'll put some hide on you, if you're not careful."

Krycek ambled over to the man, his mind already working the possibilities a private conversation with Cap could procure. "I'm a little put out with her for just that reason. When I get back home to my girl, she won't be able to get her arms around me."

"Now son, if she loves you that won't matter to her." Cap said companionably.

It was amazing how quickly Krycek's ear had adapted to the particular idiom of this group. The slightly twangy, down-home expressions flowed from his mouth, now, with almost no forethought. "I've pret-near gained at least ten pounds since I got here… she'll have to 'love' a whole lot extra of me." Cap chuckled softly.

He let the silence extend between them before he tried a tentative, "I sure miss her, though." He shuddered, hoping Cap would assume it was involuntary, and pulled his coat collar tighter. Waiting for a response.

"Well, now, Arntzen, you know that leaving at this stage is problematic." He eyed Krycek with seeming compassion and continued, "When you first join up, it's tough; believe me, I know. But – and you'll surely agree with me, son – you've only been with us a little over three months. That's not sufficient time to fully suss out the security risk you present…" he let his voice die out.

Krycek stifled the rise in anger and pressed on, aiming for ingenuousness, "Yeah, I know. It's just, well I haven't seen her in three months, you know? I mean, Cap, you saw her – don't you think it's cruel and unusual punishment?" He grinned at the man in the dim light. Thought he saw the corners of his mouth turn up. Good.

"I'll tell you what," Cap dropped his cigar and stepped on it, "let's play it by ear for a little while yet – I'm not comfortable with you going out into the wild world by yourself just now… but I _will_ let you go into town and call your gal, let her know you're alright. How's that sound?"

'Lousy,' Krycek thought but he'd take what he could get at this point, "Hey, thanks Cap… I really appreciate it."

**0530 hours, Day 137**

He sat at the table, enjoying the smooth flavor of Claire's excellent coffee. Hot, fresh out of the pot – he got up early just to get the first cup – with nothing added. 'Hot, fresh, nothing added.' He thought of Dana. But then, there wasn't much that _didn't _make him think of her. He had it bad for that woman, knew it was an unqualified impossibility, but with little else to entertain him, he allowed himself the indulgence of a liberal fantasy life featuring the enigmatic Dr. Scully.

The promised phone call came through about a week and a half ago. He loaded into the van for the trip to town, not knowing who he'd call when he got to the payphone outside the market. His first thought was to just shoot the moon and try Dana's cell; in fact, the urge was overwhelming …but it wouldn't get him where he needed to be. Instead, he took a different gamble and called a number Marita had given him a long time ago. She picked up; he was surprised. She almost hung up on him, but something in his voice must have prompted some latent interest in, at least, the possibility of his suffering, and he was able to get her to listen. Luckily, the guy they'd assigned to keep an eye on him believed in true love and gave him some space. Somehow, through barely intelligible code and frenzied whispers, he was able to extract from her the promise that she would pass on a message to the British Man.

The message was simple and succinct. "I await your instructions."

_End Chapter 13_

_-to be continued-_

AN: The holidays kept me from this, but, now that I've got four whole readers (!) interested in this story, I worked diligently to get this up and running again. I _almost_ thought about dropping it… but then I listened to an audio file of Krycek saying, "Two Thousand Kilos of boom-boom" and…well, I was _lured_ back. Hee. Let's just say that Krycek has a _very_ persuasive voice.


	15. Do or Die

**о моменте**

'_**Do or Die'**_

**2337 hours, Day 203**

The woods were still and the air was dry and crisp, enhancing the ability of sound to travel. Krycek sat completely still, leaning his back up against a tree, listening and watching. Atchison was due any minute, and with him, some portion of Krycek's fate. He felt… nervous, in spite of himself. He reached down and picked up a handful of cold earth, sifting it from one palm to the other. Winter was fast approaching. There was a snap to the air during the day, and the temperature dropped precipitously every night. His senses, like the weather, had sharpened again. He was getting ready. For what, he didn't know just yet, but he'd figure it out soon enough. Tonight's meeting would go a long way toward helping him put the puzzle pieces together.

His hands stopped in mid-sift at the slightest 'snap' of a twig. He turned carefully and saw the shadowy silhouette of a man approaching. He waited. Could be Atchison, or it could be patrol. Best to wait until the other identified first.

"Arntzen?" his friend called out to him. Atchison had stopped in his tracks, taking in his surroundings warily.

Krycek rose slowly, careful to ease through the pops and cracks of his joints to soften the sound. "Atchison – over here." he called back. Atchison moved toward the sound of his voice, careful to avoid snapping the underbrush.

As Atchison kneeled on the ground he reached slowly into the interior pocket of his coat and brought out a crumpled envelope. "Picked this up from the post – it looks like what you've been waiting for." Atchison held it out to Krycek. "Same post mark on the ones I usually get." he added.

"Thanks, man." Krycek took the envelope and stuffed it into the waistband of his jeans, without opening it. Atchison looked at him curiously, but said nothing. "You have any trouble picking this up?" Krycek asked.

"No, no – they don't watch me anymore. I've been picking up the mail for a while – about a year, now." He let out a breath that showed white in the night air, "It makes it easier to do what I was sent here to do – although there's not a lot of regular communiqué's between me and the others." He grinned, "By design, of course." He gestured toward Krycek's letter, "I just separated it from the other mail, slipped it in my coat pocket."

Krycek just nodded. He actually just wanted to end the conversation and get back to the bunk house, take a look at the letter. But Atchison seemed reluctant to let him out of it so easily. So, he waited. If Atchison wanted something he was going to have to spit it out; Krycek wasn't in the mood to make it any easier for him by asking.

The lengthening silence obviously increased Atchison's discomfort, but Krycek was stubborn. Let him stew. Finally, "What are you planning?" he asked quietly.

He looked toward the compound, getting his eyes away from Krycek's. As Krycek turned to go back, he said quietly, "Aw, now, Atch, if I told you that, I'd have to kill you." and left Atchison standing alone in the night.

When it's time to go, there's no looking back.

**0122 hours, Day 204**

Krycek slowly folded the letter closed, hardly aware of his actions. He'd played the only hand he had and it came up bust. There was no other way to look at it. He felt the anger roiling slowly, underneath the surface of disappointment. Extreme disappointment.

The letter was simple in its profundity, saying everything and nothing all at the same time.

Mr. Krycek,

I am avidly interested in discussing an arrangement between us which I feel would be most beneficial for all concerned, and hope to do so, soon. However, the change in weather which I depended upon to facilitate this arrangement has been stalled by unforeseen complications of a most serious nature. The man whom we both have reason to distrust has abilities and connections which are, unfortunately, irreplaceable at this juncture. I will not go into great detail, for obvious reasons, but feel it incumbent upon me to warn you – the situation concerns your place of birth. The progress gained in that division threatens the whole. I cannot be less oblique, Alex. You must come to your own understanding. I can only trust that you have the tools at your avail to gain a foothold in this matter.

I regret I may not be of more help to you, my boy.

One thing he was sure of, if it concerned the place of his birth and it threatened the Syndicate… then that could only mean one thing – the Russians had achieved some kind of a breakthrough. The nature of it remained to be seen.

It had been years since he'd officially been back to the Soviet Union – since before it became the CIS – back in the glory days of Mother Russia. He had, of course, been back many times _un_officially. His dealings with old comrades were quick, passionate and carried out under deep, deep cover. The entire nature of his association with them was imperfect at best… and it had been months now since he'd had any contact at all. In order to 'gain a foothold' as the British Man had advised, he'd need to find out what had happened with the Russian Derzhav. In the past, he'd always shamelessly misappropriated the Syndicate's advanced communications paraphernalia to reach out and touch the Soviets. It gave him a perverse kick, using Syndicate resources to communicate with their chief rivals, but he'd always managed to evade suspicion and the connection was never uncovered.

No one, especially in the Syndicate, knew of his ties to his native country. And he intended to keep it that way. If he would make contact with the Soviets, he'd need secured transmission, and satellite level communications gear the likes of which he'd not seen much of since his days with the Consortium.

So, basically, he was screwed.

**0400 hours, Day 210**

_He can hear it. Calling to him…seducing him. He claws at the dirt but gains no ground. It needs him. The intense need ripples through him_. I should let go, _it whispers to his mind_, sacrifice myself to it…_ He struggles against that sickening voice in his head, struggles to keep from giving himself to the Dark Thing. He moves slowly, the high-pitched wail of it so strong it pulls at him physically… After an eon, he finally reaches the heavy steel door but the only thing he sees is his own face, reflected back, stretched in a death mask of agony, his mouth the perfect 'O' of a silent scream – _he sat up suddenly, eyes open to the blinding darkness, hands outstretched; searching. He blinked furiously, his head slowly clearing, and with the clarity, realization… _it's only a dream, only a dream…_

Seven months. Seven months he'd been out of the hole, and the dream still occasionally came back, vivid as sunrise in Albuquerque. Always the same – he's stuck in the silo, and the thing is clutching at his mind. Whispering to him; _luring_ him. The other dreams – the dreams that featured a red-haired goddess – didn't come nearly often enough to off-set the effects of the others.

Krycek's resolve was wearing thin.

**0017 hours, Day 216**

Mirrors tell a truth that most people never see. To some the mirror tells a tale of the kindness of the years; little to no wrinkles, fine, athletic figure retained in the face of years of desk work, hair laced with interesting silver highlights (never grey)… To others the mirror tells a horror story that only resembles what others see in the most peripheral of ways; the image reflected back unretouched by any softer emotion like love, or fondness. Those whose self-loathing rips from them any kindness for themselves.

He grinned into the darkness at a sudden memory. _It was shortly after Mulder found out about his real employer and he'd had to disappear. When the pressure lifted he'd been sent on 'Snoop Duty' as they'd called it; information gathering on the two agents. He had cracked the password on Dana's personal files– just for grins – and stumbled upon her journal. Curious, he read some of her entries. The tone of them struck him as oddly poetic, visceral, full of beautiful imagery. He remembered thinking, 'Huh. Agent Scully is a poet.' _

His thoughts on mirrors sounded just like one of those journal entries. For the briefest moment, he could see her clearly in his mind's eye, wondered where she was… how she was doing…

But anyway, Krycek was neither of those mirror gazing types. He rarely used the mirror for more than just a perfunctory glance as he cleaned his teeth or washed his face. Never really thought good or bad about his appearance.

Until today. He'd been washing his hands after cleaning some guns and caught his reflection as he reached for a towel. What he saw shocked him. He looked… soft. Not just physically, although that was certainly evident. No, what he saw in his own eyes was even more disturbing. A kind of resignation.

He'd given up.

**0200 hours, Day (who the fuck cares)**

Krycek, here. Staring at the ceiling in the middle of the night again. Fucking sick of this place. Had the fucking dream again. Not one of the good ones about fucking Dana… the bad one. From the fucking Silo. Fucking freaks me out.

Raid, stockpile, and build fucking, piddling pipe bombs. Same shit, different day. Fucking never ends.

**1400 hours, Day 257**

Today started more relaxed than most. The camp had awakened slowly, as there were no pressing matters to attend to. As a result, most everyone indulged in that all too rare of commodities – leisure time. Krycek used his to go for a run, clear his head.

Sometime around when the leaves changed (September? October?) self-preservation kicked in, and he shook himself out of his mental stupor. He resumed his regular exercise and pushed himself a little farther every day. He was currently working toward a comfortable eight mile run.

With the renewed physical drive, he was able to wrap his mind around his 'exit strategy.' What he knew was still in deficit to what he didn't, but he was beginning to put together a plan. Making contact with the Soviets had proven impossible. The satellite communications equipment the militia held was jealously guarded and only the most inner circle were allowed its use. So, that was out. What he needed was a way to either contact or go to the Russians.

Lately, the efforts of the group had stepped up; recent acquisitions – ammonium nitrate, diesel fuel, detonation cord, yards of steel pipes and fittings, cases of WD-40, and boxes of gun-powder – all painted a pretty clear picture. Krycek was fairly certain they were ready to make some heavy duty incendiary devices. He didn't like it. Neither did Atchison.

Neither would the FBI.

Getting Mulder to listen to him would be the hard part. Mulder thought he was low-life scum, selling his soul to the highest bidder. Only partly true. The thing Mulder didn't understand about him was that, in spite of circumstantial evidence to the contrary, Krycek actually _loved_ America. He thought of himself as a patriot. And what these men were planning on doing – hurting civilians in the name of crackpot ideologies? Well, it went against what was actually Krycek's bedrock philosophy. Preserving as much of the human race as was humanly possible. And if he profited personally along the way, well, that was just gravy.

Of course, it wouldn't hurt that this maneuver might bring him into close proximity to Dana, either.

**2200 hours, Day 260:**

Krycek was allowed to make purchases on the militia group's account. That worked out well. They sent him on runs for things that could be gotten 'over the counter' and he copied the receipts at the grocery, and then handed the originals over to Jerry, the guy who kept the books.

Atchison was in. He was just as interested in deconstructing the militia group as Krycek. Hoped it would get him assigned elsewhere. "Somewhere warm," he flashed his smile as he said it. Since he was the only one of the two of them with mail access, it was probably a very good thing. Once a week, Krycek would address an envelope to Mulder, stuff it with a few receipt copies and hand it off to Atchison, who would then deliver it to the post office in town. They laid out the snare and then waited in tense anticipation for their quarry to bite.

Krycek would bet his next month's stock earnings that Mulder would take the bait.

**0530 hours, Day 262:**

Krycek grunted through the pain, pushing through one last crunch. The weight he'd put on the first few months had melted off in the last couple and took some extra with it. In a tactical meeting two days ago, Mitch had commented that 'Arntzen looked scrappy and lean' and that some of the other slackers could take a page out of his book. Personally, he didn't know or care what he looked like. He was only interested in getting himself into the best shape possible.

The last envelope he'd addressed to Mulder contained a map showing the route for a caravan of stolen equipment bound for the Canadian border and a detailed list of the cargo it contained. Tonight, he'd find out if Mulder would come through for him.

Regardless, he was going to make his move - tonight it was either do or die. And he didn't plan on a funeral any time soon.

_-End Chapter 14-_

AN: _You know what happens next -- Mulder takes the bait, and Krycek does, indeed, get his brush with Scully. The next chapter weaves into canon and adds an extra little colorful thread._


	16. I Think It's Going To Rain Today

**Я думаю дождь придет сегодня**

'_**I think it's gonna rain today'**_

"What did _you_ get for Halloween, Charlie Brown?" Mulder's nostrils flared; the tension to keep from swinging at Krycek was evident in every fiber of his sinew. To his credit, though, he merely exhaled sharply, turned and walked out the door.

Scully watched the retreating back of her partner for a beat and then turned toward their … prisoner. He looked tired. Her heart lurched involuntarily and she glanced back toward her now absent partner. God only knew how Krycek had been living for the last nine months. When she'd left him in the woods of North Dakota, she had expected he'd find a way to contact her. As one month became two and the weeks marched on and she still hadn't received even a cryptic note…well, she'd had to give up hope. The militia group, for whatever reason, must have… done what the Smoker hadn't been able to achieve. And she couldn't _talk_ to anyone about it. She looked back at Krycek. He was staring at her.

He held her gaze a shade past comfortable, before lowering his eyes and clearing his throat, "You look tired, Dana." He reached up and lightly stroked the top of her arm, dropping his hand when she flinched slightly.

"It's been a long night, Krycek," she sighed heavily.

"No thanks to me, right?" He offered a tentative smile, but she wasn't buying.

Scully stiffened, tucked her chin, "You could say that." She glanced around looking for Mulder, her irritation palpable. It wasn't fair of him to make her handle this alone.

"I was hoping you would see this as a coup," his voice lowered in a conspiratorial whisper, "I'm trying to help you out, here, Dana, I-"

Krycek was playing her. Or trying to. She could see it, now – it stood out in sharp relief to the rapidly crumbling notion that he wouldn't do that to _her._ Scully's eyes snapped and her lips thinned, "Don't call me Dana," she glanced around her quickly, lowering her voice to an angry whisper, "I thought we were finished with this kind of manipulation, Krycek." Her tone gave a particularly nasty spin to his last name.

Krycek felt his gut squeeze at her anger and quickly resigned himself to it. He had a job to do, the results of which would cause Dana to hate him much more than she did at present. Best to get used to the feeling. "I know you're angry, and feel betray-"

She cut him off, "You haven't begun to see angry, you lying, double-crossing," she was visibly having trouble finding an epithet suitably reprehensible enough to stick him with. Krycek tensed, waiting for her to continue. Her breath exploded in a final word, "Sonofabitch!"

Grabbing his wrist, she quickly removed the cuff from the railing and replaced it on her own wrist. None too gently, Krycek observed. "She wants to kill me," he thought. He followed her lead mutely as she led him to the men's room, marching right through the door without a moment's hesitation. He was oddly impressed. Once inside she flipped the lock. He studied the movement, incredulous. "Da-Agent Scully, you can't just go around locking the men's-." Her hard yank toward the line of washbasins and command to "SIT!" stopped him short. He plunked down on the floor obediently, watching speechless as she clasped the handcuff to the pipes beneath the farthest sink. His shoulder wrenched uncomfortably. "Hey! I can't move at all down here – there's no-," again, his words were cut off neatly by her fierce stare. He already knew that look… and had no intention of arguing any further.

"I have a few questions, you bastard." She propped herself against the stall door behind her and looked down at him. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest, rising and falling rapidly with her breathing. "Who sent that courier? Did you? Is this some kind of an elaborate set up, Krycek?" He opened his mouth to answer, but she rushed on, "Tell me you aren't working with Cancer Man again, Alex." Her eyes flashed angrily, "You dropped out of sight for nine months. Not a word – nothing, and then this?" Pushing away from the stall, she moved forward, stood at his feet. "None of this makes any sense." She let out an exasperated breath, and crouched down in front of him. "Why, Krycek? Did you really do all of this for a rock?" He tried to answer, but she cut him off, "You took all the trouble of stirring up a federal raid – do you know the planning and manpower involved in something like that," she breathed quickly, "never mind – of course you do. You were FBI – once." She massaged the bridge of her nose, let out a long sigh, "Not to mention the trouble you put Mulder through… _me_ through." That last came out with the barest tremor of emotion to it, and suddenly, Krycek understood. Her pride was hurt. Specifically, _he_ had hurt it. Regret, raw and immediate clawed at his insides, but he forced himself to push it aside.

"Dana, I know what you're thinking." He craned his neck to get a better look at her. It wasn't easy as she'd turned her face away from him. "You think that I lied to you, that I've been manipulating you. That all we've been through means nothing… Not just in North Dakota, but since we first formed this unusual… partnership." Her eyes darted toward him and away, but she remained mute. He took it as his cue to continue, "The truth is, I have devil's work to do, Dana – there are things that have to be done, things that you would not approve of… and I will not take you down a path that would ruin you." She sighed heavily but remained otherwise in stoic silence. "But I won't defend myself to you, either. I told you from the start that I would do what I had to do, and I meant it then as I do now." He looked away from her, suddenly feeling all of his years, all of his experience. The room was still except for the sound of their breathing.

Scully turned around and studied him for a long moment. He'd changed. Dramatically. His skin was deeply tanned, and his eyes sharp and focused. The air around him crackled with the energy that buzzed just under the surface of every move he made. His hair was severe, like the rest of him. His neck was muscular yet lean, the tendons standing out in sharp relief. His arms were thickly knotted and sinewy. But his physical changes weren't what bothered her. His demeanor toward her had changed. In spite of her internal conflict, she had placed her trust in him, and felt he had done the same. Now, it seemed as though the connection they'd developed in the months before he'd disappeared had all but vanished. He'd changed so much. And it tore her heart out to look at him.

"I thought you were dead," she said it so quietly he almost thought he didn't hear her right. She looked at him and oh, God, her face scared hell out of him; equal parts defiance and vulnerability... He felt his throat tighten again, and swallowed with difficulty.

"I wasn't." _It was… an inevitability; from the moment he knelt beside her broken body, and made his promises to her unconscious form. From that moment he was inextricably tied to her and didn't even know it. Oh, Dana… I am yours and there will be no escape…_ The realization settled over him as he caught and held her gaze; tried to will himself to be brutal, ruthless. But he knew he'd lose the battle as he reached up with his free hand and caught her fingers in his. She swayed, teetering on the brink of some decision, and he feared the outcome. He gave a slight tug and her house of straw tumbled with the pressure. She dropped to her knees and allowed him to pull her close into his chest. "Dana, what are you doing to me?" he whispered into her hair.

"We can't do this, Alex." His heart sped up and heat shot through his body in response to the sound of his name coming from her lips. Lips he wanted to devour. He wrapped his free hand further around her body, attempting as much contact as his awkward position would allow. He buried his face further into the hair at the nape of her neck in feeble attempt at removing the temptation to kiss her. She didn't reach for him, didn't put her arms around him, only placed her hand on his heart and allowed him to hold her. But for the moment, it was enough.

"Dana, listen to me," he murmured into her hair, "There are some things I'm going to do, things you'll investigate – they'll likely be in an X-file-." She moved her head from under his chin and looked up at him, and he stopped in mid-explanation, all thought suddenly swept from his mind.

Their faces were close, so close he could see the light dusting of freckles carefully concealed beneath her powder, the tiny flecks of gold just around her pupils; the fine, soft hairs along her hairline that refused to be tamed into place. He closed his eyes slowly, opened them again. How many times had he dreamed this? He swallowed hard as his breathing became more difficult, breaths dragged in, harsh and ragged. Her eyes – so close to his now – held him fixed, suspended in denial. Her lips were mere inches away from his, full and moist, and she was staring at his mouth, transfixed. Her breathing hitched, and she opened her mouth slightly, tilting her face up to his and he was going to do what he'd dreamed about for months, he was going to kiss her hard, right there on the men's room floor. Alex lowered his mouth to hers, touching the bow of her upper lip lightly with the tip of his tongue. Held in that one bewitching moment, he could go no further; his lips hovered over hers in excruciating suspension of release. Dana slid her hand slowly up, and his skin burned where she touched him. He could feel her heart pounding rapidly against his side, felt his responding in time. Tears were gathering in her eyes and she was clutching the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

"Alex, oh-"

"-God, Dana-"

He crushed his mouth to hers. Warmth spread down his neck, through his chest and over his belly, hardening him rapidly. He pulled her onto his lap to bring her off the floor, clamped his knees together around her, and meshed himself with her as best he could. Her response was warm and soft; meeting his need and allowing him to answer hers. Pulling his mouth away from hers, he kissed behind her ear, down the side of her throat, along her chin, capturing as much of her as his mouth was able to reach. Before control spun completely from his grasp he pulled away and rested his forehead on hers, endeavoring to catch his breath. Her lower lashes were wet; he reached up and brushed them with his thumb. "I'm sorry," he whispered, "I know you didn't want to do that."

She laughed softly, "Obviously," she said, and stroked his chin. He leaned his cheek into her touch. "Alex," she said softly, "Whatever you're planning… don't go through-"

But the spell was broken at the sound of the door shoved hard, stopping with a 'clunk' against the restraining bolt. "Hey! This is airport security – is anyone in there?!" Scully sat up straight and pulled away from him, momentarily confused. Then she stood up, calling out, "Yes! I'm an FBI Agent – I have a suspect in custody!" before turning back to Krycek. She looked into his eyes, silently pleading, and then whispered, "I'm sorry – brace yourself, Alex."

She raised her gun fast before he even had time to react and hit him hard on the side of his head. "I'll be damned" was the last coherent thought he had.

_-End Chapter 15-_

AN: _Oh! It took such a long time to get to that first kiss! I've tried to write it – several times before – but it just refused to happen. It never seemed like the right time for the characters. It almost didn't happen in this chapter but during a last minute rewrite, they just wanted it so badly – who am I to deny them? I wanted it to be mind-blowing and devastating and staggering – all the things a first kiss is supposed to be. Krycek and Scully deserve that. I hope I did it justice. _

_Thank you, **Southern Cross**, and **vest-button** for the lovely reviews – It's incredibly gratifying to know that you are providing pleasure for others simply by doing something you love. Solard_


	17. She Shook Me Cold

женщина сотрясала меня холодный

'**_She Shook Me Cold'_**

**_Krycek woke to_** the sound of a car radio, scratchy and ill-tuned, exacerbating the pounding in his head. "Enjoy your nap, asshole?" Mulder. Krycek blinked to clear his head, turning slowly to glare at the tunelessly whistling agent.

"What the fuck, Mulder?" he grumbled and shut his eyes again, rubbing the side of his temple. It was all starting to come back to him.

"She's scrappy, isn't she? Probably worse than me," Krycek heard Mulder chuckle, "Yeah… guess you found out what it means to cross Scully." He turned to Mulder, noticing the unaccustomed look of something akin to real mirth in the man's smile.

"Glad I could provide some amusement for you, Mulder," Krycek slumped down in the seat farther, "where the hell you taking me, anyway?" he asked.

Mulder chanced a brief look over at him before answering, "You're an important witness in a federal investigation, Krycek, now with _more_ enemies who might be plotting retaliation." He smiled – the customary mirthless sneer he usually aimed at Krycek, "I'm taking you to a safe house."

Something about the way he said the word 'safe' gave Krycek a clue that it was anything but. "Where, Mulder? – the FBI doesn't usually provide safe-houses in the exclusive Crystal City area."

Mulder was obviously enjoying himself, "To Skinner's apartment– he should be very glad to see to your… safety."

Shit. This wasn't going well.

**_He'd received the _**greeting he half expected, a forceful jab to his right side, just under his ribcage. As a former Marine, Skinner was adept at working a man over, and obviously the A.D. had stored up plenty of motivation waiting for his chance at Krycek. Alex felt his side with his free hand. Hurt like a sonofabitch. Coupled with his head trauma, and the fact that he was cuffed to the balcony railing, he wasn't faring too well, at this point.

Gingerly reaching inside his jacket to avoid touching his sore ribs, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. Time to try plan B. He pulled the antennae up with his teeth, dug the slip of paper out of his watch pocket, taking care not to drop his phone, and began dialing the number on the slip of paper. He punched 'send', and waited for the confirmation before hanging up. When that was done, he let out a heavy breath, noticing the cloud of white it left behind. Frick it was cold. He leaned his head back against the balcony wall, felt the rough stucco texturing biting into his already sore head. Thought about the woman who'd caused it.

She'd surprised the hell out of him. But she'd been doing that since the first time he'd laid eyes on her. Everything about her shook him to the core. She'd not hesitated to do what was necessary. Even after she'd kissed him senseless. His heart lurched and sped up, thinking about that kiss… thinking about what that kiss might've led to, if circumstances had been different. Looking at the phone in his hand, he briefly thought of calling her, but his better judgment prevailed and he slipped the phone back into his pocket quickly. Best not take any unnecessary risks at this point. His plan was so tenuous, so dependant upon a series of ridiculous circumstances falling into place that he marveled anything had gone his way thus far.

He was satisfied with the raid on the militia in the early morning hours yesterday. Mulder had performed as if scripted, exactly as Krycek had hoped, in fact. He laughed out loud at the sudden thought – Mulder, the celebrated profiler, couldn't recognize when he, himself, had been profiled; like the proverbial physician who cannot heal himself. Aside from that pleasure and the grim satisfaction of taking out the militia cell, there was the wholly unintentional gift Mulder had given him– a few stolen moments with Dana. Up to that point, everything had gone as well or better than he could reasonably expect. Excruciating head traumas, notwithstanding.

The detour to Skinner's hoisted a wrench in the plan, however, and Krycek was forced to think through the pain of his head, and Mulder's sadistic mirth. The number one objective hadn't changed: he had to get Mulder to Tunguska. That part would be easy in comparison. Number two was almost entirely personal – he needed to get back home, patch up some damage to the oldest of his alliances. The only way he could see to accomplish that was in Mulder's unofficial custody. So, getting Mulder to take him along for the ride would be the hard part. He needed to convince Mulder that he _needed_ to go, and that he couldn't afford _not_ to take Krycek with him. How the hell he was going to get out of Skinner's and _back_ into Mulder's custody, he had yet to work out.

It was getting colder. He'd bunched himself up into a tight ball, and thought about Skinner's parting shot, _'think warm thoughts.'_ Sonofabitch. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the frigid hardness of the concrete under his ass, the tightness seizing up his free hand. He made a fist with his cuffed hand and released it. It was getting numb from inaction. He slid his arm up and down the railing, attempting to get the blood circulating again. And felt the anger slowly coming on him. Wouldn't do Anger wouldn't get him out of this; he had to remain calm; think clearly. He dropped his head to his knees and tried to still his thoughts, to focus.

There was no way he could stay on this balcony. Too much was riding on the next few days. If he didn't get where he needed to be, then he'd have to spend what would likely be a very short lifespan on the run. Options were non-existent at this point; he had only one path, and must find a way back on it. _The sound of the door opening caught his attention and he raised his head slowly, looked in through the glass. There, at the door he saw her, walking in warily. He made no noise, didn't want her to notice him just yet; wanted to study her without her knowing it. She stopped in the entry way, kicking off her shoes, before walking into the living room. Obviously looking for something, while trying _not_ to be obvious; he could tell she was trying for cool and detached, like she belonged there. He smiled as she lifted the sweating glass from the coffee table, sniffed it and then belted it back in one gulp. _'That's my girl,' _he thought. She took one last look around and then headed toward the glass door, spotting him just as she reached it. She stopped and smiled, regarded him through the glass. He made no move, just sat quietly, waiting. Finally, she opened the door._

"_I was in the neighborhood," she said, and moved into his arms. He pulled her to him, kissed her thoroughly, and then turned her around, gently nudging her toward the door. She stopped and spun around, "Just what do you think you're doing, Alex?" she laughed. _

_He walked her backwards, playfully, kissing her every few steps, "I'm seducing you…" he growled. Her eyes widened and she twined her arms around his neck. He worked his mouth near her earlobe and barely breathed, "I want you in my bed, woman," hardening as he felt her shiver. She pushed back at him but then leapt up and coiled her legs around his waist, kissing him deeply. He walked heavily with her weight toward the bedroom, jolting to a stop as he heard—_

Something in the living room. Krycek's head came up fast, pounding anew with the disorientation of interrupted sleep. It came back to him in a sudden rush of adrenalin as the intruder came through the door. No time to think, act only; he slipped up and over the balcony and waited, holding his breath. The cuff bit into his flesh painfully; he gripped the concrete with his other hand but it barely relieved the pressure. He tried not to think of the seventeen stories stretched beneath him.

He pressed himself into the miniscule nook under the base of the balcony, but knew that it wasn't enough, not nearly enough to hide his body. Felt the vibrations of the intruder's footsteps move through the floor his head was pressed against. Looked up into a face he recognized but couldn't place. Krycek almost grinned at him, but the man reached inside his jacket. _He's got a gun_; fuck– _no time to think_ – his free hand shot up, grabbed the man's shirt, pulled with all his weight; registered the look of surprise on the man's face, then cold fear as the man was suspended against the sky, grasping at air but there was nothing to hold, and he was falling – _god I'm falling – _shuddered as the sickening thud reached his ears, realized his eyes were squeezed shut but he was still here… he was still here, clinging to the balcony, and Shit!, he almost let go for the briefest moment, an irrational reaction to the pump of speed in his system… forced himself to hang on… and he only had to get back up on that blessed balcony and breath, mutherfucker, breath…

Moments later, it might have been a lifetime, Krycek sat, sweat-streaked and breathless on the balcony. His wrist was an ugly mass of blood and pain, but as far as he could tell there were no broken bones, just torn flesh and angry purpling bruises. The shakes had started and his teeth were clamped so hard he thought they might crack from the pressure. _Fuck._ He breathed deeply, trying to will away the descending shock.

_This has to stop, sometime, Alex; you know that don't you?_ His father's voice.

_Pop, just a little bit farther. We're so close, now,_ his mind answers.

_We've done all we can, Alex; you cannot bend the future to your will, _his father would say.

_I can't just sit back and let them make all the choices, Pop. I have to do something… I have to do _some_thing._

He'd been fighting so long; he'd forgotten what it was like not to run, not to fight, not to fear. His father had started him early – eleven years old. Had him out in the woods practicing; taking apart and putting back together every type of firearm they could get their hands on, picking every conceivable lock available, pulling apart engines and patching them back together, hot-wiring different vehicles, making small explosives, street fighting – _"dirty fighting"_ his father called it – even sleight-of-hand parlor tricks. Everything, every way a person could think of to trick, fight, or heist an opponent, his father taught him in clandestine sessions when his mother was busy elsewhere. As if his father knew what was in his son's future. _Alex my boy, life is hard, and I want you to have a fighting chance,_ he'd say. His father – mild mannered University professor by day… amateur brigand by night. But damned if he didn't prepare him. There were many times over the years Alex would silently bless his father for his foresight. He'd taught him to survive by himself, for himself, and the lesson stuck.

All the more frustrating that he found himself, currently, being forced to rely upon other's decisions and actions in order to forge his own plan. It was why he never – voluntarily – took a partner. The worst of it was that he had no idea—

Alarms – no, sirens – coming from the north, fast; he snapped his head sharply toward the sound, gauging how long before they rounded the bend into his field of vision. Minutes, likely, at most. He stretched himself as close as possible against the stucco side wall of the balcony, stilled his breathing, silently preparing. Within twenty minutes the pounding began on the doors to the apartments on Skinner's floor. Voices mixed: authoritative questioning, tentative answers. He lay on the balcony floor, willing his body to still, his jaw to relax. The sudden sound of keys scraping the lock accomplished in him what all his will would only partially do; he relaxed as still and silent as death.

"What did you do now?" Mulder's belligerent accusatory tone was like a double scotch to his nerves; Krycek almost smiled in sheer relief.

Krycek struggled to a sitting position and held up his cuffed wrist helpfully as Mulder fumbled for the right key. "Hey, I was just minding my own business, man – why don't you ask," he nodded his head toward the balcony, "_him_." Mulder's hand shot out and Krycek ducked away just enough to soften the intended hit. "Don't punch me in the head, Mulder, I might get concussed and forget all the details." He smirked, "then I'll be about as good to you as that _smear_ down below."

"You make me sick, Krycek, you know that?" Mulder hauled him by the collar and moved him through the living room toward the front door. He paused and looked out into the hall, ducked his head back in, "We're going to walk out of here like nothing happened. If anyone speaks to us, you say nothing. Got it?

"I got no problem," now Krycek did grin, "you put me up here – I'm looking forward to seeing you get me out."

Before he had time to react, Mulder's hand shot up and whacked him on the forehead, "Stupid-ass haircut," he muttered, grabbed his jacket collar and twisted it.

"I got news for you, Mulder," Krycek eyed him coolly, "when they find out who that is down there, there's going to be no question whose apartment he was pulled from.

"Who is he?"

Krycek hesitated, just a moment, "Same guy with the pouch."

Mulder loosened his hold on Krycek's jacket, but steered him through the door, "Let's go."

Almost as an afterthought, Krycek offered, "I say follow the pouch," but he had no doubt that was exactly what Mulder was going to do. They slipped almost too easily through the detectives and patrolmen scattered around the entrance of the apartment building and into Mulder's waiting sedan. As Mulder started the engine and pulled away from the curb, Krycek couldn't keep a grim smile from pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Things were definitely looking up.

- End Chapter 16 –

**AN:**_ I keep threatening to go AU…but so far – well, aside from my completely fabricated Sc/K ship – everything continues to hum along parallel with canon. You know what happens next. The boys wend their way to Russia, Mulder gets the oil and gulag treatment, and Krycek ends up sans arm. I briefly toyed with sparing Alex's arm…but far too much dramatic effluvium can be culled from losing a body part. It might be lazy, or it might just be that CC got Tunguska and Terma just right. Uhm, let's go with the last one._

_ Something for the Bowie fans: this and the next two chapters I titled with David Bowie songs. She Shook Me Cold (this one) The Pretty Things Are Going to Hell (17) and Never Let Me Down (18). If you feel like it, look up the lyrics. They fit so perfectly. ;-)_


	18. Pretty Things Are Going to Hell

**милые вещи идут к аду**

"**_The Pretty Things Are Going to Hell"_**

**_He stared out_** the window into the grey twilight draped over the ocean. Bitterness rushed through him as he made out the lights of New York before the plane banked left and they disappeared from his view. Krycek had seen the view a thousand times or more, but never with so little enthusiasm, or expectation. There really was no reason for this all-encompassing ennui; all that he'd set out to do, he'd accomplished. Every contact had been satisfied with his part in the assignment. He had received no complaints from anyone – from the Derzhav or the Consortium – on either side of the world… and he was still alive. But, his deepening sense of dissatisfaction threatened to engulf even the most perfunctory of self-congratulatory feeling.

It was another job. It was a success. Whatever.

His eyes fell on the fabrication that rested in place of what was, just months ago, warm flesh. Another pang of bitterness, sharp and fresh, overwhelmed him for a moment. _Yes, a success… but at what price?_ He still wasn't used to the cumbersome attachment at his left side; felt every phantom pain and itch as a personal affront. His missing body part became his private symbol for everything else that had gone missing in his life. Father, mother, brother, sister, home… love, all of it _– normalcy, for god's sake – _sheared off with his arm, leaving behind a gaping maw of raw, twisted deformity that threatened to swallow him up. Disgust battled with anger and manifested in the knot choking his throat. He wanted to make someone _pay._ But even that desire dissipated into a mitigated undercurrent of futility. There was no one to exact his revenge upon save himself.

"Excuse me, sir?" he turned toward the attendant who interrupted his self-flagellating thoughts. "Would you like something to drink?" He stared at her momentarily, until he realized that she was trying to maintain a polite smile in the face of what must have been a very nasty look on his face.

Krycek adjusted his expression, smiled slightly, effortlessly turning on the charm, "Thank you, yes, I'd like a beer, but,-" he said, and indicated his prosthesis, "would you mind…?" he lowered his eyes, "…still getting used to this thing," he finished with a shy smile.

"Oh, of course – certainly…" she turned a high-watt smile on him and blushed slightly. He had to suppress a smile at her discomfiture; equal parts attraction and embarrassment. "How can I help?" she asked eagerly.

He leaned over and motioned her closer, whispered huskily in her ear, "I have trouble with the tops – just can't seem to get them off yet…" he ran his finger lightly along the collar of her blouse, "would you take the top off… for me?" He looked into her eyes, letting the innuendo sink in, wondering how she would respond to his blatant flirtation. A shock of surprise registered for just a moment, but she recovered beautifully.

"I'd very much like to take it off for you," she said.

**_The springs squeaked_** a little as he moved to sit up; he stopped abruptly and turned toward his companion. She was still blissfully asleep, having satisfactorily proven to him that he was _'still every bit as much man as he'd ever been.'_ Her words, not his. He might have felt bad, but she had been a willing accomplice in the deception he'd orchestrated. She'd been subtly flirting with him the entire flight, and from the moment she blushed at his suggestive request, he knew he'd get her into bed. It had become something of a game to him, and she was just the latest in a series of winning moves.

It should make him smile… he'd had more consensual, no-strings attached sex in the weeks since he'd gotten out of the hospital, than he'd had in the previous year. Instead it made him feel… empty. And? Nothing. That was it – he felt… nothing. Oh, he was up to each new challenge – nothing wrong with his sex drive – but the truth of the matter came to him full force in the aftermath of these meaningless couplings. There was only one woman he wanted, desired so deeply; only one he wanted to fuse himself to body _and_ soul… and he knew, without even asking, that she'd want nothing further to do with him. She would view his most recent skirmish with Mulder as he himself would, if he were in her place: an unalloyed betrayal of the first degree. And he suspected there would be no forgiveness, this time.

So, he used his new disability, coupled with what charm he knew he possessed, and persuaded random women into sleeping with him in a bizarre, futile quest to gain control over something that he knew could ultimately mean his downfall – an unremitting hunger that could be satisfied by her alone.

He'd become a starving man in the midst of a feast.

**_She hung up_** the phone absently, staring into the beige expanse of her office. Her leads, which were few to begin with, were coming up dead end on every try. The knowledge she had of his contact list was, admittedly, miniscule, but no one – not one single person remotely connected to him – had any knowledge of where Alex Krycek currently hid.

And that was a condition Marita had no choice but to correct.

It was against her better judgment, counterintuitive, even, to her express interests to partner with him again, but agencies and powers far above her in the food chain had pressed their point and she'd capitulated, resigned to her fate. Survival sometimes made strange bedfellows. Oh, how well she knew that adage by now.

Alex Krycek. The name made her blood boil…and not in the way that it used to, either. In her intricate, meandering path to reach some legitimacy in her career, he'd landed with a resounding thud and sent her caroming way off task, devastating her. And just when she was beginning to cull together the shreds that were left, when she'd inherited an intriguing new purpose in supplying information to the enigmatic agent of the X-Files… those with claims on her past were forcing her back into Krycek's inexorable orbit. Pressuring her to act out a part she would have willingly performed with much less guile only a few years ago.

'_Get his attention, Marita,'_ the Smoker had said,_ 'he's proved to be far more indestructible than we expected.'_ She understood the length and breadth of the 'attention' she was supposed to be attracting. _Have an affair on us, Marita – it won't hurt much, we promise; now go on; prostitute yourself for us like a good little soldier._ God help her she hated those men; every one of them a puppet master and she the marionette. In all fairness, she supposed Alex was merely a pawn as well, but she wasn't feeling particularly charitable toward the man anymore.

She let out a tired sigh, looked around the office aimlessly. How in hell was she supposed to convincingly contact a man –supposing she could even locate him in the first place— whom she had told, in no uncertain terms, to go straight to hell and never darken her door again? Only one thing seemed viable at this point – go home, take a shower, and get some sleep. Her dilemma would look less intimidating in the morning, with fresh eyes. As she straightened from reaching for her attaché, she jumped and had to suppress a gasp. 'Speak of the Devil' seemed inordinately appropriate, as she stood staring at the specter of Alex Krycek leaning against her door. "How did you get past my secretary?" she asked abruptly.

"Nice to see you, too, Marita," he replied. His mouth was set in a determined complacency. She felt an overwhelming desire to scratch his eyes out.

Instead, she employed diplomacy, "It's been a long time, Alex; you'll allow that some surprise isn't out of the ordinary, yes?"

"Sure… surprise is in order; astonishment, even…" he chuckled softly, "but you look like you've seen a ghoul." He moved a little closer, just inside her door. She took an involuntary step back.

"Ghouls can't hurt you if you don't invite them in." She tried for lightness, but missed; he still unnerved the hell out of her. She smiled tightly, "And I didn't invite you in, Alex."

Busying herself with papers on her desk, she watched him out of the corner of her eye, noticed he reached behind him and lightly pushed the door closed. "I'm just about to leave…"she tried. He made his way over to her, and she plunged her hands into her pockets. Hoping he wouldn't notice their shaking.

"Didn't you, Marita?" he asked quietly.

She looked at him sharply, her eyes narrowing, "Didn't I what?" she asked.

"Invite me in." he answered. His gaze didn't waver from hers, but she couldn't maintain the contact. Looking down, she took a deep breath to try and get back some semblance of control. He reached over and took her chin in his hand, gently brought her face back up, forcing her eyes to meet his. "Some associates of mine told me you were making some calls…said you were looking for me." His smile spread all the way up his face, then stopped at his unreadable eyes. "Well… here I am." he said. "Did you miss me?" He backed her steadily into her desk, until she was forced to sit on the edge. Without any extraneous movement, he insinuated himself between her knees, effectively pinning her.

She reached up impulsively, grabbed the back of his head and pulled him toward her. His mouth was close and she could feel him breathing, slow and easy; in complete control. His mouth hovered over hers, and then floated slowly down the side of her neck; with just the hint of actual contact. She could feel the heat emanating from him as his lips drifted a hair's breadth away from the base of her throat; only his light, even breathing on her skin, gliding over her jaw and back up to her mouth. All the while, his eyes never broke contact, even as his mouth withheld it. He was daring her to beg him. The effect was unbearably erotic. And irresistible. "Yes…" it escaped her in a soft hiss. "I missed you," the words barely made it out. He smiled, and then abruptly pulled away from her.

"Marita, I'm touched, really," he said, his voice flat. She stood trembling as he walked behind her desk and sat down in her chair, "But I think we both know that you would never contact me unless your back was against a wall." He picked up her letter opener, balanced it on his finger, and then flipped it deftly into his palm. "Why don't you tell me what you really want? Because I know it isn't me"

Smug, self-satisfied liar. Why, after so long and despite her own practiced animosity toward him, did he still have such command over her involuntary responses? "Alex… in spite of what you may otherwise be accustomed to, I'm not inclined to fake orgasms for business purposes."

"Cut the crap, Marita – I know one of them is pulling your strings," he glared at her, "and I suspect it's that smoking bastard." He swiveled in her chair; plying the blinds with his smooth, foreign left hand, letting her catch her first, full view of it. "I'm not surprised by your alliance – dog's frequently go back to their own vomit –" his voice was pure venom, "What I'm having trouble figuring is why you assisted Mulder in getting to Krasnoyarsk." He folded real hand over prosthetic and tabled his chin, peered up at her in the dim light. He looked more dangerous than ever. "Your smoking friend could have no reason to supply aid to my agenda."

She hated this. Really and truly. She was completely out of her league when it came to the labyrinthine machinations Alex Krycek had in his power to construct. "I don't know what you're talking about." she lied.

His harsh laugh shook her. "Wow," he feigned surprise, "You…are a terrible liar, Marita… How have you managed to survive for so long in the circles you travel in?" He stood and moved toward her quickly, grabbed her by the shoulders, "Now, listen to me, I'm in the middle of something – something big – I've already burned plenty of bridges and put myself seriously and permanently on the line. I'm not letting any little minx with mixed up priorities muddy up my position. Do you understand me?" He shook her hard for emphasis, "Spill it, sweetheart; I don't have time for your mind games."

Marita feared Alex Krycek, but she feared the smoking man more. So, she chose to counter his question, try and buy some time. "Why did you want Mulder in Tunguska, Alex?"

"What makes you think I wanted him there, Marita?" He still gripped her shoulders tightly.

She shrugged uncomfortably, wishing he'd relax his grip, "Agent Mulder had no reason to go – unless someone tipped him off about that diplomatic pouch…" His expression didn't change materially, but she caught the momentary shift in his eyes. "How did you know about that pouch, Alex – I had to pull strings to find out about it myself. And my _business_ is diplomacy."

Krycek studied her a moment; dropped his hands and retreated back to the window, leaned against the frame. "I'm unable to divulge the source of that information." He seemed distracted, now, talking almost to himself, "Mulder doesn't know it, but he's into it up to his eyeballs. Always has been. He thinks he's some kind of righteous outsider… And that makes him incredibly vulnerable to attack by all the wrong people. He puts those..." he hesitated, shook his head, "people closest to him end up paying the price, while he's busy going off half-cocked… stumbling into more shit than he knows. They will eventually decide he's too much of a liability and try to eliminate him." He looked back at her for a long moment, seemingly weighing something in his mind. Finally, he shook his head again and said quietly, "I just gave him a little extra insurance, that's all."

"What did you do, Alex?" she asked.

"I gave him a gift, Marita," he sighed heavily, "Although that's probably not what he'd call it."

**_His neck ached_** from the pressure of his harness, and he now had an unparalleled migraine. Against all reasonable argument, he had forged an arrangement with Marita Covarrubias, and the negotiations were taking their pound of his flesh now. Letting his head fall back on the headrest, he tried to will the pain out through his eye sockets. Just as he'd begun to feel the slightest bit of relief, a staccato rap on his passenger side window brought his head up and his hand to his holster. "Open the door, Alex," she commanded. Her face was hard, and her eyes were a dangerous shade of grim. "Now," she bit out.

Krycek popped the lock and watched as she slipped into the seat; then closed his eyes for a moment and breathed her in. "Dana… how'd you find me?"

-End Chapter 17-

**AN:**_ I seem to like Krycek and Scully in cars. Don't know why – maybe it's something to do with the subdued light, and that little bit of confined space all acting as a bit of metaphor for their shadowy, confined, conflicting emotions. Both of them wanting something neither is sure they have the room for. Mmmm. All sorts of delicious possibilities. _


	19. Never Let Me Down

**Никогда не разочаровывайте меня**

"_**Never Let Me Down"**_

"Dana… how'd you find me?" Alex lolled his head to the side and looked at her. She had changed a little in the months since he'd last seen her. She'd dropped some weight, and her face had thinned, making her already ripe lips look even more sensual in contrast. He couldn't determine if the almost non-existent light of the car lent harsh shadows to her face or if they were the real effect of stress, and little sleep.

Turning in the seat to face him, she increased the intimacy of their positions; elbow couched on the top of the seat, chin propped on loosely curled fingers. "I played a hunch, Alex," she finally said. "And I had a little…guidance." She pulled something from her inside coat pocket, and handed it to him. It was a photograph – probably taken with a telephoto lens – from several years ago; him, walking arm-in-arm with Marita Covarrubias.

"I can explain this," he said too quickly.

Her lips curved in a tight smile, "I'm sure you can. You can _explain_ just about anything, Alex." This was it; he'd probably blown Marita's tenuous credibility with Mulder and possibly fouled up the next phase of his operation, all in one blow. "Is she in it, too, Alex? Please tell me she's not working for them…" she shook her head, lowered her eyes, "I'm not sure Mulder could recover this time…if he finds out she's double-crossed him, too."

"_I'm_ not working for them, Dana…" He reached out, touched the hair at her temple, "Look, I'd have nothing to gain in denying that, yes, Marita and I have… a history…," he indicated the picture, "especially as denial is impossible at this point." He handed the picture back to her. "But I can't enlighten you as to the nature of our present association, either." Covering his hand with hers, she lightly played her fingers over his. She was studying him intently, but her eyes were unreadable in the darkness.

After a moment, she dropped her hand back to the top of the seat and leaned closer to him. "Tell me you're only sleeping with her."

It took him by surprise; so matter-of-fact, so…straightforward. He didn't want her to be so detached, but he didn't want her to know that, either. Lowering his eyes, he forced a laugh, "Not at present, no." he said, straightening. The quiet enveloped them; he sat staring out the front window, while she remained sideways in the seat, staring at him.

Lazily, she reached up, ran her fingers through the short hair above his ear. "This haircut – Mulder said you looked like a…" She shook her head, "Well, basically he called you a skin-head." Chancing a look at her, he noticed she was smiling, now. "Actually, it's not too bad. Kind of…tidy."

"You think so?" he asked lightly. "It's...uh, it's easier." Involuntarily, his eyes shifted to his left appendage. Another thing he didn't want her to know about. Smiling faintly, he went on, "I decided to keep it this way for a while." He turned in his seat toward her now, risking her discovery of his imperfection; felt the phantom impulse to reach for and pull her close with an arm that didn't exist anymore. "What else did Mulder tell you?" he asked quietly.

They were merely inches apart, now. "That you were a lying sonofabitch and a ruthless killer, but that he never actually thought you wanted him dead, until you were both over there." He could read her eyes now, but they weren't really saying anything he didn't want to hear.

Alex chuckled and shook his head, "He said that, huh?" then looked at her soberly, "Dana, if I'd wanted him dead, he'd be dead." He narrowed his eyes, tilted his head and studied her, "Hey – I thought you'd want _me_ dead… what's…why aren't you trying to kill me?"

She looked at him speculatively, "How do you know I'm not?" she countered.

"Lulling me into a false sense of security, are you?" he asked. "Or 'keeping your enemy closer' – something like that?"

"Something like that," she answered. He lowered his hand and cupped the nape of her neck, pulled her a little toward him. She responded, bringing her mouth to his. Their lips barely touched when she gave a startled, 'Oh!' and pulled back abruptly. He opened his eyes, uncomprehending at first, and then saw it – the smear of blood on the top of her upper lip. "Alex, you're bleeding." He wiped his lip and looked at his fingers; only trace amount. He wasn't the one bleeding.

It was starting; the 'bad shit' that Atchison had alluded to. He reached up and wiped gently under her nose, saw the fresh red blossoming there that confirmed it. "No… Dana, it's –you. You have a nosebleed." He pulled the sleeve of his t-shirt further down and dabbed at the flow with it, trying not to acknowledge the alarm in her eyes with his own. She tried to push his hand away, but he persisted, "Its okay, let me-" he held the sleeve to her nose firmly, "Lean back, try to relax." For a moment, he could tell she was debating with herself, but then she leaned back and let him minister to her. As he held his sleeve in place, lightly pinching her nose, he was overwhelmed with a devastating tenderness for her, mingling with the desire and the confusion. She had lost so much… and now, she was probably losing the rest.

And he couldn't bring himself to tell her.

"Dana – let me take you with me." he asked quietly. "I don't live far from here… will you, uh, will you come with me?" Her eyes were wide and she looked ready to bolt, but she nodded affirmatively. "Okay-" he removed his hand and checked for fresh blood, "I think it's stopped, for now." Bringing his sleeve up to his teeth, he bit and ripped the end off, handing it to her, "Here," he said, "just in case." Turning the key in the ignition, he checked the side-view mirror, realizing even as he did so that there'd likely be no one coming at eleven-thirty at night. "Oh, and I need you to close your eyes – if you don't know where I live, you can't be forced to lie when they ask you."

"Whad bakes you thing I would lie?" she asked, semi-coherently, still pinching her nose. He looked over at her, and tried not to laugh. "Dana, you don't bite the hand that wipes up your bloody nose. You know that."

He put the car in gear and guided it into the night, wondering what the hell he was doing.

"**_Okay, you can_** open your eyes, now." He turned off the ignition and pocketed the keys.

She looked around, but didn't recognize the neighborhood. It was decidedly eclectic, the building they parked in front of very industrial, and all of it definitely further away then he'd led her to believe. "How far, exactly, is 'not far', Alex?" she asked warily.

He laughed, "Well, if I'd told you, exactly, you wouldn't have come, would you? And you wouldn't have gotten that sweet little nap you just got, either." He reached across her, pulling up on the door handle, "It only unlocks from the inside." he offered by way of explanation. "Sit tight, I'll come around and be a gentleman."

Waiting for him to retrieve what he'd needed out of the trunk and make his way around to her door, she wondered briefly what she was doing here. Was this simply a reaction to the picture of him with Covarrubias? Or was it something more. She glanced behind her, caught his eye through the back window. He smiled and she smiled back, while considering the possibility that he might have all this neatly pre-arranged.

He came around and opened her door wide, and offered his right arm, "All set?" he asked. She nodded and swung her legs up and past his, steadying on his arm. As he supported her, she straightened and found herself pressed very close to him. They stood there for a moment, neither able to move. Collecting himself, he directed her attention toward a heavy, warehouse-style door. She glanced back at him dubiously. "I like the security," he shrugged.

As they stood in the pool of light cast by the aluminum flood lamp above the door, she noticed for the first time that something was different about him, but she couldn't figure out what it was. He got the door unlocked and opened in one smooth motion and turned to her, directing her with a tilt of his head. "Ladies first," he said. She shrugged off the wariness creeping over her, and moved through the door. _'Damn the torpedoes,'_ she decided.

Once they were in Alex pushed the heavy door shut, leaving the foyer in almost darkness. She realized he was right behind her as she felt his arm come around her waist. He pulled her close and leaned down, whispered in her ear, "Follow me; I know my way around in the dark." Moving in front of her, he clasped her hand in his and led the way through the short hallway toward the back of the building. At the threshold she gasped and the word 'breathtaking' came to mind. Facing her was a wall of glass which opened to a view that easily cost him a million. A lake spread before her, and on its surface, lights winked, reflected from the cluster of houses on the other side. A dock made a peninsula out into the water and, at its end, a small fishing boat bobbed. It was shrouded but not obscured by lush trees and there was an appealing wildness about it that spoke to something deep inside her. "Yours?" she queried. He nodded, studying her face.

"Here… let me show you the best part." He flipped a switch inside the doorway; soft light came on along the edge of the water. It cast a glow on the surroundings and bathed it all in alluring warmth.

"Tell me you have comfortable seating out there, and I might never leave." she whispered.

He smiled, lowered his eyes, "I might not let you." he said. "Walk with me?" he waited for her nod, then took her hand again, led her out the back door. They walked slowly, meandering their way to the dock. Once they reached it, they stood looking out over the water. He glanced at her and then laughed, "You think we're trespassing, don't you?"

Her face must have revealed to him her complete wonder and she had to laugh too. It wasn't grand, or spectacular in an overindulged, moneyed way. It was… homey, retreat-like, and the image just…well, it didn't _fit_. "How did you… come across a place like this?" she asked.

"Well, it's an old warehouse… I think they used it in the thirties or forties; probably to hold bootleg liquor." He grinned, "More appropriate, now, right?" He watched her laugh, and continued. "It was a complete wreck before I bought it, so I got it for a song. I throw money at it or work on it whenever I get the chance. And..." he swept his arm casually and shrugged, "Voila!"

"You made this." she said, her eyes wide.

"I made this," he said. They stood on the dock for a while, listening to the water lapping at the supports. Finally, he asked, "You ready to go back inside?" and turned slightly toward the way they'd come.

She didn't want to move, but turned with him and answered, "Yeah… let's go back." They walked in, her hand still in his, and stopped. It was late; nearly one-thirty in the morning, and in spite of not sleeping well for several nights, she wasn't particularly tired.

"Alex, do you-,"

"Dana, look, I'm not-,"

They both hesitated so she urged, "Tell me." He let her hand drop and faced her, leaning against the door frame, studied her intently, then shifted and looked out into the night. "What were you going to say?" she prompted.

He turned back toward her. "I'm not going to play games with you. I can't make promises, and I'm not reliable… 'No strings' takes on wide new meanings with me." He swallowed hard and inched towards her, took hold of her jacket front and pulled her closer, rested his forehead on hers. "I want you…" he choked out, "I want you in my bed. Say 'no' and I'll respect it," he whispered, "But say it soon, Dana."

A delicious heat spread from low in her belly and quivered through her limbs. Her throat tightened and cold heat shivered out to every sensitive part of her body. She felt that if he touched her right now, she might spontaneously ignite. "I… I can't," she stammered. A soft groan issued from low in his throat; he blinked hard, and lowered his eyes, avoiding her gaze, and she realized that he misunderstood. She reached out, placed her palm on his chest, felt his burning heat, his heart rapidly thrumming and thought she might sink under the weight of her want for him. "Alex," she barely choked out, "I can't say 'no' – I can't –" His eyes darted to her face, seeking and finding. He moved swiftly forward, pulled her roughly to him and they stood, locked together, feverishly quaking.

"Danushka… ya goryu… _ya kochu vas,_" he whispered against her neck.

"Me too, me too," it came out on ragged breath.

He laughed softly into her hair. "You do, eh?" He lowered his head, ran his tongue along her collarbone, delighting in her moaned response. "Yes…yes, I think you do." he laughed, softly this time. He straightened, then, and reached for her hand and placed it on his unyielding left arm; ran it up and down, then curled her fingers around the hand. She looked confused for a moment, and he said, "You have to know what you're getting into," and waited.

"Alex… how – what happened?" she breathed. She ran her hand up, and then down again; probing lightly with a doctor's touch. But he didn't want her doctor touch…

"Don't – don't treat it like a specimen, Dana…" he said, looking into her eyes for a long moment, then shrugged out of his coat and grabbed the hem of his t-shirt, swiftly pulling it over his head and off the prosthetic hand. "It's reality – something I'm learning to live with…and, I'll be honest…it's been a _bitch_, and if you keep looking at me like that…I-" She continued to stare at him, obviously in mild shock. "Dana, say…something."

"Tell me. How." she whispered.

He took a deep breath, "It happened in Tunguska. Some locals had a, uh, different way of dealing with all the … tests."

"What tests?" she asked quietly. She swayed toward him, but said nothing, waiting.

"It has to do with the smallpox scar," he started haltingly, "If you don't have a smallpox scar, you don't get the test," he abridged it as best he could, "Get rid of the left arm, you get rid of the smallpox scar, Dana," he said quietly.

"Let me see," she said.

He closed his eyes, resigned, and began the process of unhooking the straps that held his appendage on. He pried it off, turned and set it aside gently. After a long moment, he circled to face her. "Well, what do you think?" he asked. She looked at him carefully, unmoving. "I want you to touch me, just – no doctor hands, okay?" he leaned into her, nestled his mouth at her ear and groaned huskily, "Touch me like a lover, Dana."

She shivered and brought her hand up, ran it gingerly over the angry looking tissue that bordered the place where his arm…stopped. It wasn't a particularly good job, being a backwoods hack-off, and he could tell that she knew it. She didn't comment, though. They stood there a long moment, and he finally asked, "So…turned off?"

Her eyes snapped with what he thought might be anger, "No… no, I'm not," she said quietly.

He didn't wait for any more invitation, pulled her to him and kissed her roughly, catching her lower lip between his teeth. "Put your arms around me and hold on," he said gruffly.

She didn't question, just grabbed him around the neck as he swept her legs up into his right arm. "Alex… don't drop me." she managed between breathless kisses.

"Just… don't let go, okay?" he grinned. Quickly, he moved them toward a dark hall at the opposite end of the great room. Rounding a corner, he moved swiftly through the entry to his bed, and finally collapsed onto it with her still circled in his arm. They moved in tandem, until both were solidly on the bed; mouths exploring, hands gently grabbing and tugging at clothes that were too much barrier to their discovery.

He was hopelessly lost, caught between reality and dream, aware of nothing but her hands on him, her mouth on his, her body, displayed before him like a treasure sought for so long, and finally, miraculously found. He moved his leg up slowly, twined it around hers, drawing her tightly to him. She ran her fingers over his back, tracing around and over every battle scar. He slipped his hand into the back of her jeans, under the laced edge of her underwear, slid along the smooth skin he found there, curving his hand to fit snug against her. He squeezed and pulled her closer. "You feel good," he murmured into her lips.

She plunged her hand down the front of his jeans, slid her hand along the length of him, sending a shiver through his body. She whispered huskily, "So do you."

He laughed, "Oh, Dana – you are one surprise after another." Pulling away from her a little, he hooked a finger in her belt loop. "Undress for me," he whispered. He lay back and watched as she wordlessly lifted her backside off the bed, unfastened her jeans, and slowly pulled them down. She shimmied out of them and kicked them into a heap at the end of the bed; then sat up and pulled her sweater over her head and tossed it toward the jeans. She did this with little finesse, quickened by obvious desire. His heart skipped a beat from the knowledge and stopped as he took in her graceful body, covered now with only tiny bits of delicate lace. He wanted to rip them off with his teeth. "My God, you're beautiful," he said quietly. He moved toward her, slid his finger into the band of her panties and tugged lightly, pulling them over her hips and down her legs. She kicked them off and started for the front closure of her bra, but he stopped her, "Uh-uh," he said, "Let me," and with his one hand, swiftly unhooked it. She shrugged out of it and let it drop behind her.

Placing her hands on his shoulders, she gently pushed him back onto the bed. "Your turn," she said. She worked at the top button on his jeans, and grasped the zipper, pulled it down. Slipped her hands under the two edges and stopping suddenly, feigning shock, "Alex Krycek… goes commando."

He grinned at her, "Easier that way." She helped him slip his jeans off, and they both lay there completely exposed. He reached over and pulled her with him as he rolled onto his back. "You have to be on top," he whispered, "Logistical necessity."

"Sounds like you've had practice with this," she kissed down his neck and over his throat, leaving a trail of heat.

"Nemnogo," he said and grabbed tangled his fingers in her hair. Her nails dug into his sides, as she worked her hands and her lips steadily downward. Slowly, unbearably, driving him crazy. "Dana…" he whispered, beckoning her back up, "Dana, Dana…please…" he kissed her eyelids, her chin, her neck, "teper', Danushka – teper'… I can't take it much longer…" he lost his voice in her hair. He'd wanted to be inside her for too long to postpone it with anything else.

"Show me," she breathed into his mouth, "help me, Alex…" she pleaded, her eyes unfocused, glazed with desire.

He took her hand in his and guided her to him; placed her hand around him and squeezed gently, "Guide me," he whispered. As she held him, stroking lightly, she remained poised on the edge, suspended in time; their eyes locked but neither moved. Her breathing sped up, keeping time with his as she bent to kiss him.

He groaned deep and low and, no longer able to help himself, thrust upward, wildly; she threw her head back, "Yes… Alex oh… yes, yes, yes…" tumbled out on a ragged breath as she moved against him. Lowering herself to him, she rested her forehead on his as they moved steadily together.

"More, Dana… oh…god…" So close, he was so ridiculously close, now. "Dana-" he gasped, and her eyes flung open. "Dana… I'm too… I can't hold off…" His words forced out in breathless staccato. Focusing on her face, willing her to look at him; _see_ him, silently commanding himself to _wait_, he shuddered, "Dana – _fuck_ -" he was _there_ and he wouldn't be able to stop it –

And suddenly she was there, too; she threw her head back and moaned, low and steady. He felt the liquid heat of her pulsating around him and gave himself up to her climax… felt his own imminent release crashing in around him, senseless to anything else but their joined bodies and the energy arcing between them. He rolled slightly on top of her, pushing himself into her, holding on tightly to the last pulsing moment. She had her arms locked around him in a vice grip, straining against him, wave upon wave of intensity rolling through her. After her muscles slackened a bit, she opened her eyes slowly and a smile lifted just the corners of her mouth. "I need a cigarette," she sighed. He laughed at her limpid, post-coital assessment.

Slowly, they relaxed into a peaceful exhaustion; she turned over and curved herself into his side. He lay there a moment, imprinting all of it on his memory, storing it up for dryer times. His eyes grew heavy, and no longer able to keep them open, he wrapped his arm around her possessively and drifted into dreamless sleep.

**_Soft light prodded_** at his eyelids, urging him to wake before he was ready. In the twilight state between full awareness and sleep-drugged, his mind whispered suggestions of an incredibly vivid, erotic dream the night before. As he came fully awake, the full realization that he'd had Dana – real, in the flesh – during the night brought a slow smile to his face. He could still smell her intoxicating scent on him, could still feel the dampness of the sheets… He slid his hand across the bed and stopped. His eyes snapped open and he rolled his head to the side seeking out what he already knew instinctively, what his eyes confirmed.

She was gone.

- End, Chapter 18–

**AN:** _This one was agony. Seriously. _

_Danushka -_just an endearment form of Dana

_Ya goryu -_I burn

_Ya kochu vas -_I want you

_Nemnogo -_a little

_Teper' - _now

Of course, they'd probably make a Russian speaker laugh, but they're strictly for 'color' not accuracy.


	20. Knocking On Forbidden Doors

**стучать на запрещенных дверях**

'_Knocking on Forbidden Doors'_

**_He slid his_** hand across the sheets, reaching toward her, and stopped. He knew it before his eyes confirmed it.

She was gone.

Rolling tiredly, he sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed at his eyes, trying to focus. Glanced at the clock; five-forty a.m. It wasn't even officially morning yet. _'So anxious to get away…'_ he thought. He pulled on his jeans as he made his way into the kitchen, and distractedly prepared his coffee. Wandered over to where he'd left his arm the night before, and stopped to look out the wall of glass at the view that had taken her breath away. He smiled faintly at the recollection of the night before and his groin tightened at the imprinted feel of her wrapped tightly around him. He felt… sated. She was good – _they_ were good together; better than his dreams could ever do justice to. But, like his dreams, she fled… too quick for him to grasp hold of her for any satisfactory length of time. The pure enjoyment he had felt dampened a little with the realization. His eyes flicked back up to the view. Beyond the glass, the water was calm; calmer than it had been last night, but the morning had turned the indigo water of midnight a cold, unfriendly grey. It would probably rain.

And rain was appropriate.

The thought soured and sat heavily in the pit of his stomach. _Enough,_ he thought. He stood there, pensive; letting the regret hold him and take root. After a moment, he shook his head, reminded that it had to be this way; that they could never have anything like a 'normal' relationship. And… deep down, he had to acknowledge that he was relieved. Relieved that she knew it, too, and did the leaving before he'd had the chance to. She'd spared him the dirty work, just this once and he was…grateful to her. He absentmindedly commenced the process of attaching his arm; shook his head again. What was done was done and he'd just have to wait and see what the resultant fall-out would be. Still…it would be nice if, just once, something ended with a little grace. Especially this.

_**Pushing hurriedly through** _the foyer and half-running, half-skidding to catch the elevator, Scully tried not to think of the night before. She slid to a halt and rammed her briefcase between the rapidly closing doors, causing an almost audible groan from the passengers within. "Sorry… sorry," she murmured and quickly turned her back on their sullen stares. Her eyes tracked the floor-indicator lights popping on and off as the car rose through the building. Rolling her eyes as she realized she'd gotten on the 'up' elevator, she breathed out a sigh. She'd be even later to work and give Mulder even more reason to question her. _Dammit,_ she thought, _this day is already starting off bad._

She couldn't quite cover her astonishment, then, as the elevator door opened to the third floor and just outside stood Mulder and Skinner, deep in conversation. Skinner turned toward the waiting elevator, "Agent Scully – we were just on our way down," he said. This was something; A.D. Skinner rarely paid a visit to their basement quarters.

Mulder moved forward, placed a reassuring hand on her back and whispered, "Yeah, Scully – how'd you know… telepathy?" She turned just in time to catch his grin as he led her toward the A.D.'s office door. At least it wasn't too serious – if she was reading Mulder's demeanor correctly.

"Kim, would you hold all my calls for the next half-hour, please?" Skinner's smile lingered on his assistant a moment longer than necessary, and Scully found herself wondering, not for the first time, if something more than professional was brewing there. Immediately, she chastised herself; she seemed to have sex on the brain, lately. She shrugged off the intrusive thought and looked at Mulder, her eyebrows raised. He lifted his shoulders and glanced over at Skinner, "I don't know, but I don't think it's anything serious," he whispered, turning back to her with a reassuring smile. She didn't know if he was referring to the mild flirtation between Skinner and his assistant…or the next half-hour of no calls. She didn't ask, just smiled back.

"Please, Agents," Skinner indicated the chairs in front of his desk, "have a seat." He took his seat behind his desk and immediately picked up a paperweight and began palming it between his hands. His eyes drifted to the window; he didn't speak.

After a few uncomfortable moments, Mulder shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Sir, are we, uh, in some kind of trouble?" he asked.

Skinner looked up as if he'd just noticed them, "I'm sorry, Agent Mulder, I'm a bit distracted this morning." His brow knit for just a moment, "I apologize – Let me get right to the point." He leaned forward and placed the paperweight back on his desk. "I wanted to bring you up to speed on the case involving the unidentified man who, uh, fell from my balcony a couple months ago. The P.D. concluded that the man slipped up during a B&E on my residence –," he looked up at them from under his brow, "– they determined that he was probably searching for the now-missing pouch." He let that hang in the air a moment. "Either one of you have anything to do with that assumption?"

Scully muffled a cough and looked away, "I…uh, I might have mentioned something along those lines… Sir." Mulder turned and looked at her, his eyebrows raised.

Skinner's mouth turned up slightly before he caught himself, "Agent Scully, it's not your place to provide conjecture to the local police department, am I understood? In future, let them do their jobs. You'll find that yours will go much more smoothly."

"Sir," Mulder hesitated, "I can back up Agent Scully's conjecture – it's very likely that the man knew who we were – and, it stands to reason that he could easily have determined that you were our supervisor…"

"That's not the issue, Agent Mulder – look, I'm here to oversee your field work, and rein you in, when necessary." He lowered his voice, "But this was a rather personal, not to mention ethically _unsound_ situation. I would appreciate it if you would opt to say nothing in these types of situations rather than speak out of turn…" he looked pointedly at them, "…before we've had a chance to, ah… confer." He stood up, signifying the end of the meeting, "That's all, Agents – Oh," his mouth turned up slightly, "Other than the recent decision by the Senate Subcommittee to close the inquiry into the Tunguska excursion," he glanced hard at Mulder, "And we are no longer being monitored for security leaks. That should help us all breath a little easier." He moved toward the door, turning back towards them expectantly. They shared a look and moved toward the exit.

Once they'd reached the outer door, Skinner said, "Oh, and Agent Scully? Thank you. I appreciate what you were _trying_ to do." He gave a curt smile and ducked back into his office.

Mulder's mouth gaped and he stared at Scully. "What?" she asked.

He shook his head, placed his hand on her back, "Have a nice afternoon, Kim," he called over his shoulder. "Scully… you're the 'teacher's pet.'" He was smirking now.

She looked back at Kim, then at Mulder, "Not at all, Mulder. Skinner just has a soft-spot for redheads." She smiled wickedly at him and headed out the door.

"What are you talking about…Scully – Scully?" He glanced at Kim, noticing her auburn hair backlit by the window; then smiled uncomfortably and hurried to catch up with his partner.

**_He rarely came_** out here anymore; last night had been the first time in a long time. He had been an excellent swimmer; his father used to say that he moved through the water as if he were born to it. It was true; Alex could admit that without any false pride – he swam instinctively with ease. Before. Since he'd lost his arm he hadn't been back in the water… hadn't gone near the water, in fact. Walking out onto the deck with her, in the middle of the inky night, he'd felt the panic rise, _'if I fell in…'_ He didn't allow himself to finish the thought.

And now he stood on the deck, forced himself to look over the edge; let the fear in and embraced it. He knew, soon after he awakened from the surgery to repair what was left of his arm, that he'd have to confront the water, sometime.

And now was as good a time as any.

Before he could change his mind, he unfastened the straps of his harness, slipped the arm off, shed his jeans and shirt, and stood naked on the edge of the dock. He breathed deeply, the frigid air stinging his lungs; then, deep breath and he plunged in. The water was icy but did little to cool the panic rising in his mind. He fought the urge to gulp in air and forced himself to relax. _'Don't struggle against it,'_ he soothed himself, _'give in to it.'_ Felt himself slowly begin to drift up until he lay, placid and still, on the surface. He opened his eyes, then, and looked into the midday sky through the canopy of trees. Filled his lungs with air and exhaled slowly. Allowed himself a moment to indulge the comforting thought that, maybe, one limb shy didn't mean exile from the water.

He floated along for a little while, awkwardly at first, learning anew how to manipulate his position with one arm, but gradually gaining some mastery of this new way. It tired him quickly, though, and he made his way back to the dock slowly, deliberately, incorporating his fledgling skills. He reached the ladder and pulled himself up, flopping onto his back as he stepped onto the deck. Good god, but it felt good; a welcome reclamation of a lost part of his soul.

'_Like loving her.' _The thought bobbed to the surface, taking him by surprise. He almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of it. No, no… he couldn't get his mind around that one. What he'd felt for Dana, what they'd consummated together in his bed last night, was merely the scratching of an itch, an indulgence of a powerful attraction, at most. At least that was what it appeared to be, if he judged by her abrupt disappearance.

The wind shifted and a light rain began to fall. He shivered and pulled up to sitting; reached for his jeans and kicked into them, tugged his shirt on one-handed. He was more prepared when the thought came at him again, hitting him squarely in his chest, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the dawning realization. He had made _love _to her last night. It wasn't merely sex or fucking or scratching an itch. He… couldn't dismiss her the way he'd dismiss a meaningless one-night stand... The thought filled him with a slow dread. She had gotten under his skin and barbed her way into his flesh and bone.

And he'd just let her walk away from the wreckage without any protest.

He didn't really know what hit him when he jumped to his feet and headed quickly into the house. The sudden jump of his heart and the thudding that followed propelled him. Glancing up at the clock, he was shocked at the late hour: four-fifteen. Pacing, indecisive, reckless, he grabbed his cell and hesitated –_'don't call, go to her' – _deciding on his car keys instead. He pulled his boots on quickly, grabbed his jacket and headed out the door with little thought for where he was going or what he'd do once he got there.

He just had to go.

**_Stretching her neck_** from side to side, she heard the little pops and cracks announcing that it was time for a break. The case file before her had ceased to hold her attention for the last half-hour, and her thoughts kept straying to the one person she was struggling to keep at bay. She needed a distraction. "Mulder," she said suddenly, "I need to clear my head, tell me something funny… a joke."

Mulder leaned back in his desk chair, obviously concentrating, then brightened. "I got it," he began, "A recent Scottish immigrant attends his first baseball game in America and after a base hit he hears the fans roaring 'run...run!' The next batter connects heavily with the ball and the Scotsman stands up and roars with the crowd," Mulder adopted his best Scottish accent, "'_R-r-run ya bahstard, r-run will ya_!' A third batter slams a hit and again the Scotsman, obviously pleased with his knowledge of the game, screams '_R-r-run ya bahstard, r-r-run will ya!_' The next batter held his swing at three and two and as the ump calls a walk the Scotsman stands up yelling '_R-r-run ya bahstard, r-r-run!_'" he grinned, looked over at her, "so, all the surrounding fans giggle quietly and he sits down confused. A friendly fan, sensing his embarrassment whispers, 'He doesn't have to run, he's got four balls.' After this explanation the Scotsman stands up in disbelief and screams, '_Walk with pr-r-ride man!_'" He leaned back and grinned at the ceiling, tossing a freshly sharpened pencil into it, "Pretty good Scottish accent, huh?" he asked.

Scully smirked, "It'll do, Pig… It'll do." She relaxed a little, the easy banter with him made her feel grounded, safe.

He laughed, "You watch too much 'Babe' Scully… but a damn fine brogue, I must say." He quieted and leaned back in his chair, once again lost in thought. He looked as if he was working through a complex theory, but he remained silent, thoughtful.

She stood and stretched, walked the length of the office. She stopped and looked at him speculatively, noticing the gravity in his expression. "Hey – you okay, Mulder?" she asked suddenly.

His brow furrowed, "Sure… shouldn't I be?" he grounded his chair and faced her.

"Yeah… I just… well, the Roche case – you know?" she fumbled. She moved toward him and sat on the edge of his desk, picked up his stress ball and rolled it between her hands. "I know it was pretty close to you…" She avoided his eyes, "We haven't talked about it much… I guess I never got around to asking if you were alright."

He looked at her, soberly, and cleared his throat. "Well, I thought he had an answer, Scully… I thought he had THE answer. I wanted to believe, so badly… to finally have concrete evidence, lay her to rest." His face broke into a tentative smile. "It would have been an answer that you would have accepted, too – I think that had something to do with my accepting it so readily." He straightened in his chair, leveled his gaze at her. "You were right, you know. I don't like to admit it -," his mouth turned up quickly, only to fall again at the recollection. "He played me. He was a source of information – an unreliable source at that – and I … I just took it too personally." He glanced up at her, "You know?"

She stared at him, blinking back the unintended effect his words had on her. "Yeah… yeah, I know." Suddenly overwhelmed by the flood of feeling, she stood and walked back to her desk, not wanting to alarm him. She glanced at the clock: six-thirty. She had to get out, go home. Straightening the file splayed on the table, and grabbing her overcoat, she turned back to Mulder, "I think I'll call it a day, Mulder…if it's all the same…?" she asked.

"Sure," he rifled through the stack of papers on his desk, "I don't think there's anything here that can't wait till tomorrow." He glanced up, and his brow creased. "Scully… are _you_ alright?"

She managed a smile and walked to the door, "Yes… Mulder, I'm fine."

Once outside in the hall, she leaned her forehead against the wall, took a moment to catch her breath. _'Played me… source of information… unreliable… too personal…'_ She had struggled against thoughts of Alex for most of the day…had been so grateful for the comfort and routine of the basement office. But a few innocent words from Mulder and he came crashing back to the forefront of her brain. She pushed away from the wall and made her way to the elevator, her mind keeping vigil over the events of the previous evening.

She didn't know why she went with him without a protest, and ironically, didn't know why she'd left him without a word. Her nose bled, he cared for her, asked her to come with him, and she …just went with him. Falling into his bed seemed natural after that great leap. Falling asleep peacefully tucked into his body hadn't even been remotely on her mental landscape. So she'd awakened with a start, panicked, and taking care not to wake him felt blindly for her clothes and dressed herself in the dark. As she stood in the foyer, teetering between indecision and resolve, she pulled out her cell and called a cab, almost laughing hysterically when the dispatcher asked for her address; she didn't even know where she was. Then, she'd had to pull the door carefully – fearful that she might trip an alarm – and check for some sort of address, heaving a sigh when she'd found it without any undo noise. She waited in the foyer, watching nervously, until the sweep of the cab lights pulled up slowly and stopped in front of Krycek's building, providing her escape.

'_At least I know where he lives,'_ the thought tortured her. Did it really matter? They couldn't be involved. Period. But each time she repeated it silently, she became more convinced that she was only trying to convince herself.

Pushing out of the elevator and into the parking garage, she made her way to her car tiredly. She fingered her keys in her coat pocket, pressing the button to open the locks and swung her briefcase into the open trunk. Lost in thought, she lingered unmoving, her hand poised to shut the trunk. The shrill chirrup of her phone in the cavernous garage startled her from her reverie. "Scully." she answered. After a moment, when she got no response, she said, "Hello…?"

"Shouldn't that be 'Good bye' Dana?" Alex. "I mean, that's the polite thing to say when you're leaving someone, isn't it?" He didn't say it harshly, but there was an undercurrent of … something in his voice that she couldn't bring herself to name. She slammed the trunk shut and jumped, suppressing a loud curse between clenched teeth. Alex, phone at his ear, walked toward her from the shadowy alcove near her parked car. When she didn't say anything, he went on, "You should have stayed a while; I make a mean cup of coffee…" His tone was deceptively light; all strained politeness. He pushed the antenna of his phone in with his teeth, and stood a few feet away, silently watching her.

"I thought…under the circumstances, I thought it was… best." she faltered, slipping her own phone into her pocket. Something in her chest expanded until she thought it would burst. He was taking an incalculable risk just being in the enemy territory of the Bureau parking garage. He'd taken a huge risk… to see _her._ The thought made her heart thud and her blood thrum loudly in her ears.

She looked around her warily and motioned him toward her passenger door, but he shook his head 'no' and closed the distance between them, grabbing her elbow and guiding her toward the darkness he had emerged from. Once safely tucked into the obscurity of the alcove, he trailed his fingers down her arm before letting her hand drop. He leaned against the concrete wall and studied her quietly, but said nothing.

Her nerves were flayed; she was caught between the irrational warmth that filled her at the mere sight of him and the real fear that gripped her. She had felt safe in the knowledge that whatever else, Alex Krycek was skilled at self-preservation; too skilled to do something as foolish as what he was doing right now. Putting them _both_ at risk. She forced herself to speak over the lump in her throat. "Alex, you can't _be_ here… what are you doing – what were you _thinking_?" she asked.

He moved away from the wall, insinuating himself into her space; she could feel the heat emanating from him and her body responding to it. "I wanted to see you," he whispered, "See for myself what made you run away like that…" He smelled of danger, standing there so resolute; his eyes boring into hers.

She dropped her gaze, unable to stand up to the brazenness of his. "I'm sorry," she hesitated, "that was too real for me last night." She felt the guilt creeping into her voice, tried to disguise it, "Look, we'd been dancing around each other for months… and then you disappeared, again and…" her voice trembled, "I convinced myself that the attraction was an illusion…" her voice trailed off.

"The thought of you kept me sane over there, Dana. The agonizing weeks in the hospital, the excruciating pain… the only thing that kept me from going stark, raving mad… the thought of seeing you again." He said it quietly, his eyes intent on her reaction.

"Don't say that, Alex… don't make this…" she took a deep breath. "You give me more credit than I can carry." She looked up, into his eyes, willing him to understand.

His jaw clenched and he bit out, "I don't give you anything more than you deserve."

"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked, bewildered. She reached for him but he shifted slightly away from her. Almost imperceptibly.

"I guess it means that-" he stared at her a moment, indecision evident on his face, "Nothing… it doesn't mean anything." His voice had a hard edge to it. "Don't sweat it, Dana… I understand, perfectly. I mean, only a fool would think last night was anything more than a one night thing, right?" She could hear the distance creeping into his voice and it stung to hear him dismiss her so brusquely. He looked around him, his face reflecting a savage struggle for control. Her throat tightened as she fought a similar battle. When she was sure of having command of her voice, she asked, "What now?" The effort was excruciating.

"I think we both know where we stand, Dana." He had become agitated; he was spooked now and she could see it, plainly. He shouldn't be here, and the implications of that fact were just beginning to dawn on him.

She shook her head mutely, glad of the rapidly increasing shadows obscuring her from his scrutiny. "Yes," she managed. Her voice sounded strangled to her own ears.

He took two unsure steps backward, "What am I doing here?" he asked, not looking at her. Suddenly, he reached out, pulled her to him and smothered her mouth with his. He kissed her hard, and pulled away abruptly. "I have to go," he said, his voice harsh. She turned away as he retreated in the gathering darkness.

'**_Stupid, stupid, stupid, _**Alex' he thought as he maneuvered his car away from the garage. She made him a wreck. Cardinal rule – never get emotionally involved. It made you sloppy. _'And you don't get much sloppier than standing around, vulnerable, in an FBI garage,'_ he thought. Every skill, every instinct for survival was rendered useless by that woman. He couldn't think straight anymore; she'd captivated his imagination and rendered him stupid with her eyes and her lips and her body… But somewhere in there, behind the spell she'd cast on him, self-preservation was screaming at him, _'Get away!_' And so, he drove. He was not aware of any destination, just that he had to get away from there… _from her_ and to someplace more familiar. Both physically and… emotionally.

He recognized the street subconsciously before he actually made the mental connection to where he was. Parked his car and sat in the dark in front of the building. His teeth clenched; he knew he shouldn't be there, didn't _want_ to be there. But he shoved his car door open and against his own internal protest walked determinedly up the stairs; stood at the door, silently brooding. Then, he rapped lightly and waited. As the door opened, he felt the full weight of that decision bearing down upon him.

"Hello, Marita," he said quietly.

-End Chapter 19-

**AN:** _I never knew how much fun it could be to write a complex, tormented man. I kind of understand, now, why so much crap happened to Alex Krycek during the run of the X-Files. I find myself wanting to put him through hell, just to see his desperate, fascinating reactions. _


	21. Can't You Feel the Chains?

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"_Can't You Feel the Chains?_

Before the soft click fully registered in his mind, he had his gun aimed at the location of the sound. "Hello, Alex." The hand poised at the man's mouth snapped his lighter closed, "I see those celebrated reflexes are still in fine tone."

Krycek shifted to sitting without lowering his weapon. "Why are you in my room in the middle of the night?" he answered, "Get too cold under your rock?"

"Where's Marita?" The Smoker countered.

Krycek shook his head in the darkness, "I don't know… It's not my week to baby sit her."

The Smoker made a 'tsk' sound and chuckled, "Ah – lover's spat?"

Sliding the safety back on, Krycek lowered his Sig. He rubbed the back of his hand over his forehead, "What do you want, Hunt?" He reached over and turned on the bedside lamp, "I mean, I assume you want something and aren't just here to watch over me in my sleep." Krycek blinked his eyes at the light and slid his legs over the edge of the bed. "And don't smoke in my house."

Hunt eyed him, and took a long drag of his cigarette before he spoke. "You don't like me very much, do you?" he asked.

Krycek snorted. "Is that a rhetorical question?" he shot back. He reached for the crumpled jeans on the floor at his feet and pulled them on. If he had to face the black lung bastard, better to do it fully clothed. "If you've got something to say, say it, or get the hell out."

The man shifted in his chair, but otherwise made no move to leave. "I've recently come into possession of some interesting information, Alex…" He stared intently at the smoldering tip of his half-finished cigarette, but said nothing further.

Working the button of his jeans closed, Krycek fought the urge to take the obvious bait. But he'd played this game with the man before and never won; the guy's patience was legendary. Krycek eyed him narrowly as Hunt continued complacently sucking on his cigarette. "Alright. I'll bite. What – what is this interesting news you stumbled upon?"

A slight smile curved the older man's mouth, "You've been sniffing around where you don't belong, Alex." The man trained his blood shot eyes on Krycek, searching. "You weren't supposed to make… _contact_… with Agent Scully."

Krycek felt an uneasiness begin to tighten his gut, but steadied his face into an unreadable mask. "I have no idea what you're talking about." Almost before he finished the sentence, Krycek felt the man lift him off the bed by his neck, instantly reminding Krycek why Hunt had become such a legend. "What the fu-"

"Shut up, you inconsequential piece of shit." The hand tightened ever so slightly as Krycek fought for breath. He pried at the fingers gripped around his throat. "I could kill you right now, you stupid ass; I never needed anyone else to do the job for me. Don't forget, Alex; I was killing people with my bare hands before you used yours for anything more than exploring that big mouth of yours." Krycek looked into the black of the man's eyes, and felt real fear grip him. Hunt didn't even break a sweat.

"What… do… you WANT …from me?" he managed to croak out.

Just as suddenly as he'd lifted him, Hunt let go and Krycek collapsed onto the bed. "I knew you could be reasonable," he chuckled softly and straightened his suit jacket before resuming his seat. "You are going to do some freelance work for me, Alex." At Krycek's look, Hunt raised a hand, "You will comply … or Agent Mulder will receive an anonymous tip that his partner is… sleeping with the enemy." His eyes glinted, "Agent Mulder would take a great deal of interest in that information."

"You've got your facts screwed up, Hunt." Alex took a step toward the man, "I'm not sleeping with Dana Scully… she wouldn't –" _be careful Alex…_ "We've had no _contact_ in months."

The old man continued to eye him speculatively, took one last drag off his cigarette, then casually stubbed it out on the bottom of his shoe. "Interesting choice of words, Alex."

"I could say the same to you," Krycek shot back.

Hunt reached into his inside coat pocket and shook another cigarette out of his pack. "You deny that you had an information-trading arrangement with Agent Scully?"

Shit. Hunt was toying with him; but Krycek wasn't yet sure of the exact nature of the man's suspicions. "_You're_ the one who assigned me to Mulder… it never occurred to you that I would cross paths with his _partner?_" Krycek shrugged his shoulders, affecting nonchalance he wasn't quite up to, "I don't think there's anything particularly revelatory in that knowledge, myself." Krycek didn't dare look up; and busied himself instead in finding a shirt.

"I have pictures, Alex." Hunt inhaled deeply, "Pictures of a decidedly _un_professional nature."

Krycek stood still for a moment, letting the knee-jerk panic roil through him. He continued, pretending to search his closet, "My association with Agent Scully _was_, by definition and necessity, a 'decidedly _un_professional' one," he said.

Hunt made a hacking parody of a chuckle in the back of his throat, "And in the FBI garage, Alex… you're either very stupid or you have a death wish." He blew smoke in Krycek's direction. "Which is it?"

So, that would answer for it. Alex suspected there were others placed inside; if Hunt was able to orchestrate Scully's placement in the X-Files, and subsequently Krycek's own, it followed that there were others, besides. Krycek sighed heavily, "I guess it's a death wish." His gut twisted with suppressed anger; both for himself, and for Dana. He'd never escape the web of this man's influence, and that was bad enough; but he'd brought more trouble on her, as well.

Without turning around, Krycek gave in. "Fine. What do you want me to do?"

-End, Chapter 20-

**AN: **If you're still reading... and have the time... It would be wonderful if you'd leave a critique. Since some of you have graciously given your time to this WiP, writer's exercise of mine, I'm going to be honest, and say... I've hit a rough patch, and since I don't have a beta reader, I could really use some constructive criticism. Thank you!


	22. Until It Sleeps

**Пока Это Не спит**

"_Until It Sleeps"_

"_**You're up early,"**_ he started as the sound of her voice cut through the stillness, "or very late, as the case may be." Krycek was engrossed in his search and didn't hear her approach. Careful not to react too quickly, he closed the lid on the laptop, turned toward her and curled his arm around her waist, "Couldn't sleep; thought I'd come out and play a little Global Thermonuclear War." Without replying, she moved toward the kitchen and began preparing coffee.

"It was a joke, Marita," he said.

"I know, Alex – Wargames, Matthew Broderick…" She wiggled her fingers in the air, imitating the striking of keys. "What _are_ you working on?"

He stretched, cracking his neck to relieve the kinks from the long night in front of the computer. "Nothing in particular," he stood and moved toward her, "just research in general." It wasn't entirely a lie; maybe she'd accept the token, and let the subject rest.

She stopped in mid-scoop and stared at him, "Alex, the last time you did 'research' from my apartment I had the ATF at my front door while you disappeared out the back." She plunked the coffee canister down hard on the counter, "I'd like to know what you are up to."

Krycek spread his hands wide, affecting innocence, "Nothing." he answered. She stood her ground and said nothing; waiting. "Marita…" he looked up at her, "I thought we agreed to keep our questions to ourselves..." He moved around the counter and gave a little tug on her robe tie, pulling her toward him.

She didn't respond but neither did she push him away. "I never agreed to that," she said softly. Krycek bent and lightly kissed the hollow at the base of her neck; slowly, he traced his lips over her skin and felt her shiver slightly. He stopped momentarily at the tip of her earlobe, "Terms of surrender, Marita…" he whispered as he lifted her hair up off her neck and kissed along her hairline, "Remember…?" He wouldn't let her forget; not if he could help it.

When he'd knocked on her door after his dangerous and futile meeting with Scully in the middle of the FBI parking garage, he hardly knew where he was anymore. He'd gone so far down a path he'd never intended to roam in the first place… And when Scully rejected him –_ flat-out –_ he just homed in on the familiar, both physically and emotionally. And the familiar… well, the familiar was Marita. It had taken two solid weeks of thick charm to persuade Marita to give him anything but the couch. But when she'd finally surrendered, Krycek began to feel like himself again. In control; detached, safe. He wouldn't give that control up again without a fight.

Marita let him slip his hand inside her robe; let him trail his hand over her hip and slide his fingers under the waistband of her panties. She stood still, but yielding and Krycek had to suppress a smile; he'd diverted her attention effectively.

"I know what you're doing," she said, her voice husky. He continued planting soft kisses all along her shoulder, nudging her robe off slowly with each one. "You know exactly how I'll respond, too…" she whispered between shallow breaths, "…but nothing comes without a price, Alex," she gasped as his mouth found a favorite spot under the curve of her collar bone, "You want me to stop enquiring into your little _side business._" Her hands moved slowly down his torso, "But you'll have to give something in return-" she let out another little gasp, "-aside from the obvious pleasures we both enjoy…" Her hand slipped into the front of his shorts and she curled her fingers around him. "…you'll have to get me some answers for your _lover's_ partner…" she continued stroking him, "Something concrete and impressive, Alex." She continued stroking, but he'd stopped kissing as her words sank in.

She withdrew her hand as he looked up, "It still amazes me, the things you can find out with a phone call and a few mouse clicks…" Cool, steely blue looked back at him and he took a step back.

"Why, Marita," he said, "Are you spying on me?"

"It didn't take much to find what I was looking for." She eyed him steadily and continued, "Like I said, a phone call and a few clicks of the mouse." She turned back to the abandoned coffee preparation. "I can understand your interest in everything the Syndicate has on the table… but Mulder's partner, Alex?" She cocked an eyebrow, "Isn't she a little…out of your league?"

Krycek eyed her speculatively, and advanced on her, just a little, "Careful, Marita – if you push me, I push back." He reached up, caught a loose strand of her hair and she flinched slightly, "Even if we _are _sleeping together," he leaned in, lips close to her ear, "You should know that already." She turned sharply and he could see the fear in her eyes. He 'tsk'd' her and put the strand behind her ear, "Don't sweat it – you're probably the closest thing I have to an ally right now..." he smiled and stepped back, "I can't afford to jeopardize that." He walked over to his laptop and unplugged it, a small smile teasing at the corners of his mouth. "I was wondering when you'd get around to telling me what you want." He stuffed the computer back into its case. "I'm actually surprised – you held out longer than I expected."

She stood, silent, braced against the counter; when she turned to him her expression was unreadable. "I've learned a lot in the last ten years, Alex."

"No doubt, Marita – you'd have to evolve or these people would eat you alive."

Her answering laugh was harsh, "There's no more infamous a cannibal than you, Alex Krycek."

In spite of himself, he laughed. He moved closer and gently took her hand, "I guess I've left a few teeth marks, here and there…" The gesture as much as the confession surprised them both.

She stared down at their joined hands for a long moment. "Why do we fight so hard against each other, Alex? Maybe," she took a deep breath, "maybe we belong to each other… maybe it isn't just circumstance that keeps bringing us back to this place… to each other."

Whatever it was that kept bringing them together – fate, circumstance, strategic maneuverings – Krycek was fairly certain they didn't 'belong' to each other. The first time around, maybe, he _might_ have been amenable to the idea – they were both young and idealistic; each believing they served a noble purpose – but now? Ten years later, and a history of betrayal… Not likely. He suspected he'd never belong to anyone, anymore. Least of all to this woman.

There was no harm in a little ambiguity, however. "I've always worked alone, Marita, you know that." He tilted her chin up, "Old habits…"

"I'm not talking about work, Alex." She looked up, expectantly. He thought he'd had her figured out – he knew she wasn't ruthless and conniving at heart; she just had too many convictions and not enough courage to back them up. He'd assumed the last time they crossed paths and she set him up, that she'd sooner go to hell and back than risk even running into him on a crowded street. But here she was, seemingly open to the idea of picking up where they'd left off years ago.

He'd sooner go to hell and back than find out he was right.

"Why don't you tell me what you're doing with Agent Mulder?" he countered. The question – and likely the change in direction – surprised her; she hesitated, obviously at a loss for words. "I already knew you were meeting with him, Marita…" he chucked her under the chin lightly, "…what I don't know is why. If you expect me to supply some information to you, you're going to have to reciprocate." He let his hand drop and smiled, "Tools of the trade, sweetheart."

She shook her head, "I'll fill you in on the nature of my association with Mulder… but first you tell me what's going on with Agent Scully."

His teeth came together in a hard grind, but he forced his mouth to make the words, "She has cancer," he said, finally. "Your turn."

She took a deep breath, visibly affected by his reaction. "Agent Mulder approached me several months ago, seeking information about a farm in Canada," she paused and took a sip of her coffee. "And how does Scully's having cancer affect you?" she asked without skipping a beat. 

He reached for his own coffee, careful to maintain eye contact, "She was a test case for certain aspects of the program," he dropped his eyes and took his time sipping his coffee, "Which parts are you revealing to Mulder?" At her reproachful look, he smirked, "I mean, which parts of the _program_ are you revealing, Marita…"

"Enough to keep him digging." Slight pause, then, "I wasn't satisfied with your last answer," she said, and avoided his direct gaze, "let me be more specific, Alex. I saw Agent Scully get into your car the night you got back to the States… after that surprise visit you paid me?" she narrowed her eyes, "After a short while, I heard your car drive away. When I left to go home, Agent Scully's car was still parked in front of the building." Her lips turned up in a smile that didn't reach her eyes, "It was still there when I arrived - _early-_the next morning."

"Obviously we went back to my place, Marita," at this, he avoided her eyes; fought the reaction in his gut to the reminder of that night. With some effort, he went on, "Is your association with Mulder a directive of the Smoker?"

Her hesitation was slight, "No, that association is strictly off book." Catching his glance, she held it and continued, "Did you sleep with her as part of a job, Alex?"

Krycek cleared his throat, no longer able to disguise his discomfort with the line of questioning. "No…" he said softly, "no… that was strictly, uh, _off book_." He toyed with the edge of his coffee mug as the silence stretched. It was his turn to ask a question… but the desire to play the game had fizzled quickly. He got up and went back to the kitchen, busied himself refilling his coffee mug.

After a few moments, Marita followed him in. She stood and watched him in silence, then reached out and touched his hand lightly. "Alex?" she moved closer, "She wasn't just another one night stand, was she?"

It had been a long night… No sleep had made him feel vulnerable… and exposed. Instinct warned him not to open this subject to Marita's scrutiny, but like a junkie, all naked want and hunger, he'd developed a jones for emotional connection. Because of a woman he couldn't have. It tempted him… to settle for one he _could._ He looked over at her, and his course determined, attempted to deflect her suspicions. "Come on, Marita – you know me better than that."

She shivered slightly, and pulled her robe snug. "Did the Syndicate cause her cancer, Alex?" she asked.

He nodded once, "Indirectly… I suppose." Squeezing his eyes shut, he reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. His research was getting him nowhere and time was running out. He needed help. He studied Marita's profile for a moment, and was struck by something perfectly obvious that he, nevertheless, hadn't thought of before. Perhaps he could gain something from his association with Marita, after all. "You skipped my question… means I get two in a row." When she nodded her assent, he quickly continued. "First, what's the purpose of the bees? And second," he cleared his throat, "Did you ever pass notes in class?"

"The bees are related to biological warfare and-" she stopped and looked at him oddly, "Did you just ask me about passing notes in school?"

Krycek took a deep breath; "Is it possible for you to get a message to the British Man?" he looked at her pointedly, "without the Smoker's being aware of it?" Her brow remained furrowed and she cast several doubtful glances his way. "Look, Marita – I have no 'in' with the Syndicate. I'm back to freelance knee-breaking for the Smoker, but I'm on a 'needs to know nothing' basis, right now…" His breath came out in a rush, "I need a break on this…"

"On what? Alex – I can't afford to end up on the wrong side of that man, if -"

"Four words, Marita – just four. And coming from you they won't raise any undo suspicion."

"What are they?" she asked.

"'Is There A Cure?' –that's it." He took her by the shoulders, "Do this for me, Marita –get his answer back to me… and I'll take you on a trip that'll get enough information to keep Mulder digging."

_-End, Chapter 21-_

**AN: **_Thank you for the reviews, Sara (southern cross) and nmugirl39. I appreciate the 'mad love' and the constructive critique as well._

_I will do my best answering your concerns… Here's the Timeline Key: Chapters 1&2 occur at the end of Requiem (7x22), Chapter 3 is disposable garbage, and Chapter 4 (the _real_ ch.3) goes back to just after the events of The Blessing Way/ Paper Clip. Chapters 5- 21 take us through the rest of Season 3 & most of S4. Currently, we are roughly at the beginning of canon Season 5. _

_Nmugirl – directly because of Krycek (according to my story) Scully has inside information on: a) the black oil and its __immunizing__ properties, b) the possibility that the chip in the back of her neck somehow makes her invulnerable to the Syndicate, and c) what makes Krycek writhe with pleasure…You don't think the Smoker would find any one of those tidbits of particular interest? _;-)

"Until It Sleeps" is the title of a Metallica song the subject of which, interestingly, is _cancer._


	23. The Wildness That Remains

**Дикие вещи, которые остаются**

"_**The Wildness that Remains**"_

_The small vessel stood snug against the violence of the season._

_Inside she, confined by old superstitions, set about the work of reparation._

_(Women are no good at sea, my darling.)_

_Mending the nets, stitching the sails, sweeping the deck, but only in safe harbor,_

_Little ministrations she performed; an acolyte at the alter of the man's adventures._

_On arriving home, always with a bauble or trinket from far away,_

_The man offered up things she didn't need, things not wanted._

_And when ship set sail she, by necessity, was forgotten._

_Hers, the toil of watching and waiting, making home a desired destination._

_Ever aware, ever remembering even while knowing she was absent from his mind._

_She was not always thus._

_Hers was a seafaring heritage; in homeland, celebrated for her prowess on the bow, _

_her skill with __the net, her ferocious courage in the face of churning brine._

_Wild, she was; until wrecked upon his beach, tide pulling her irresistibly to him._

_They had become 'one, if by land and two, if by sea'_

_Drawn together and severed by the same unremitting force;_

_Pulled and repelled by the same surging nightmare boiling inside their hearts._

_On land his lover, but at sea she remained, by necessity, forgotten._

_No longer able to bear the toil of watching and waiting; despising home,_

_Blissfully uncaring, she pushed him from her mind and ran free._

_Pulling on the rigging and securing the sails, she lashed herself_

_to the heaving bow of the ship._

_(The Captain goes down with his ship, my love.)_

_Too long she toiled, repairing the damage she could not redress,_

_for too long, forced to deny the wildness buried within._

_Until she cast out alone; her hair leaving welts as it whipped in the wind,_

_her skin rain soaked and purified. No longer confined within,_

_but gloriously without, touching once again the passion of the sea._

_The winds raged, the waves crashed and the boat persevered_

_against the fury of The Earth Shaker's revenge._

_And she, by necessity, was not forgotten._

**Journal Entry**

**30 March, 1997**

I am changed. The hand holds upon which I once secured a confident grasp have all been sheared from the surface of my existence. My passion for the search, the satisfaction I derived from shared objectives has been turned inward, now, and I focus the powers of investigation upon myself. If the answers are inside me, I am forced to ask: What are the questions?

I do not blame him; I allowed myself to be carried along by a personality bigger than my own, bigger than life. I followed, willingly, another's path, until the lines blurred, and his quest became my purpose. He is my rock, his conviction the solidity upon which our dual journey rests, but now I am forced to consider a future which twists and separates into a fork in that road.

The cancer buried inoperably between my past and my now dim future forces me to focus with laser intensity upon what I have done, and still have yet to do. I am not finished, and yet I am out of time.

There _is_ no cure.

_**When everything crumbles**_, you turn to the familiar. And so she threw herself into the work, into what was left of her family and into the steady rhythm of the everyday. Mulder, with Skinner's support, tried to urge her to take it easy, stay at home, and work on "getting better." As if that was an option. But she doggedly refused their advice, going out in the field more often, stubbornly refusing Mulder's suggestion that she spend her time looking up numbers and addresses instead.

On this point she was immovable; he was her partner. If he was out there, she'd be out there too.

It was only in the dark, tucked into the cocoon of her bed, that she'd weep until she felt her head would explode from it. Balled up tightly, she'd rock herself back and forth, arms wrapped around her knees. The headaches had grown steadily worse; so bad, at times, that she'd lose the contents of her stomach from the pain. She'd begun eating like a power-lifter to try to counteract the weight loss, but it did little good. Two steps forward, followed by three steps back.

But mostly, she hurt. She hurt because of the pain her family had already suffered… because she'd leave Mulder alone in his search… because, in spite of her family, her job and Mulder… she was alone. She hurt. It was the essence of her existence.

After the tears stopped and she lay quiet, her head aching miserably, she would think of Alex. In the surprisingly short span of time she had known him, they'd made an undeniable connection. But it had been almost two months since she'd last heard from him. He'd… disappeared. Wiped himself completely from her life. It had been nearly two years since she'd tracked him to that research facility and helped him escape from the custody she took him into, and though there'd been times he'd disappeared without a word, he would always reappear when she least expected it. She'd grown accustomed to it, frankly. But this time, as the days stretched into weeks and the weeks into months, she despaired of being around when he finally did.

There was so much she wanted to say. She recorded the bulk of it in her journal… wrote open letters to her brothers, her mother – even her sister – adding bits as they came to her. Which was very well for her family, for Mulder, even; they'd have access to the things she left behind.

But what of Alex? If she were really honest, she had to admit that their connection did not begin simply because he took her to his bed In truth, it had been building from the start. From the very first, she'd been impressed with how …_alike_ they were. He accepted Mulder's conspiracies – endorsed them as fact, actually – and yet, approached them in a decidedly practical manner that appealed to her more scientific leanings. He'd worked his way into her head, before he'd ever begun to approach her soul. And these things she wanted to say to him, but he was nowhere to be found, and she couldn't very well leave behind a sealed envelope with his name on it.

She felt as she did when she was very small, and her father would take her out in his little fishing boat. She'd dip her fingers into the water, trying to gather it up into her hand…but it would leak out from between her tightly clenched fingers and she would look up at her father, frustrated. 'Why, Daddy? Why won't the water stay in my hand?' she'd ask. _'The water wants to be free, Starbuck. It's in its nature to be free…'_ he'd say. It never satisfied her for long, that answer. But it comforted her in an odd way.

When she thought of Alex, now, her father's words echoed in her mind.

_**Gripping the note **_tightly, Marita palmed it into her sleeve as she made her way out the door. "Just a moment, Ms. Covarrubias," the Smoker stopped her, "you neglected to fill me in on the progress of your…_assignment._"

Marita stiffened and turned in the open doorway, "He's left my place… gone back to his own for now," involuntarily, she looked away, not wanting too much of her real feelings revealed, "He's willing to accept my...offers of 'friendship'… but he won't tell me anything you can't find out in more _productive_ ways –" she had to force herself to look at the loathsome man, "He doesn't trust me – I doubt he will again. I did tell you this would be a mis-"

"I have no need for your opinions," he cut her off; "You were given specific instructions. It's in your best interests to follow through until I say so." He leaned back in the chair and leisurely lit another cigarette; he knew Marita was frightened by him and derived a grim pleasure in watching her façade of reserved composure crumble. "Your objective is to get back into the confidences of Alex Krycek, Marita." He drew deeply and exhaled, "Your _method_ of doing so does not interest me."

There eyes locked, briefly. "Fine." She turned and walked out the door before she allowed herself to exhale.

_**Krycek looked over **_the note and smiled to himself. The British Man wasn't the boldest member of the lot, but he was a man of his word. For whatever reason, he'd taken an interest in Krycek, and had promised help in any way that was possible. He hadn't failed to deliver on any request yet. As long as the requests remained…_discreet._

Krycek glanced up, "Thank you, Marita – I know this cost you."

"Don't worry," she drawled, "You will pay me back."

She shifted at the doorway, reminding Krycek that she still stood in the hall. "You want to come in?" he asked as he swept the door open.

She looked surprised. "Yes, thank you." She looked around while trying to look like she wasn't, "Nice place, Alex. Are the vermin on time with their share of the rent?" but the outer edges of her lips turned up in a wan smile.

He was always amused whenever anyone acquainted with the illegitimate side of his activities took in the below-average quality of his 'front' apartment. Aside from security reasons, he kept the apartment to mess with people's perceptions of him as much as for a reminder of where he _really_ called home. Only one other soul – _living_ soul, anyway – knew where _that_ place was. But she wasn't likely to talk.

"No – I'm constantly after them to pull their own weight around here – there are so many more of them." He led her into the kitchen and indicated a chair, "Have a seat. I imagine you've got some questions." She cocked an eyebrow at him and let out a short laugh. "You laugh – what?" he asked.

"It's just…well, you're being unusually, uhm…" she shook her head, "well, _hospitable_, Alex…" She indicated the note he had yet to put down, "That must be some note. You're almost… upbeat."

He looked down at the note and then held it up, "It's very good news, Marita –" he smiled – a _real _smile, "You don't know it… but you've done a good thing today." He took the seat across from her and leaned in, "Obviously, you know my question was specifically about Da…" he hesitated, "…about Agent Scully's cancer." She nodded and he went on, "I can't go into any detail-" he grinned, "- or I'd have to kill you."

Marita smiled and looked down at the table, "Well… I'm glad to know I was useful," but her voice was cool. She rose and headed toward the door, "Let me know when you want another note passed."

Alex got up and moved quickly, blocking her way to the door, "Hey – what's… -the hell, Marita -" he tilted her chin up; she was close to shedding tears, "What's the problem?" he asked.

"Nothing – just…" she attempted to push him away, "Alex, I would like to leave, now." She looked up at him, imploring, "Please?"

He tightened his grip around her wrist, "Not so fast. You walked away from me like this once before, and I ended up in a military brig." Krycek maneuvered her arm slightly behind her and used the pressure to propel her back to the chair. "We're not doing that again."

She avoided eye contact, maintaining a determined silence. He leaned against the counter and waited, just as determined. Finally, she looked at him and drew a deep breath, "You can't possibly gain anything from finding a cure for Dana Scully's cancer, yet you took the risk of finding out the information in that note." She lowered her gaze, and swiped carelessly at her cheek. "You've never done anything that didn't serve you first, Alex." She looked up, accusation in her eyes, "Do you love her?"

The question took him by surprise; he swallowed hard and looked away. "Cut it out, Marita." He didn't need this; didn't _want _to examine too closely the questions Marita was hammering him with. He shook his head, "You're really swinging wild on this one." Turning to the sink, he prepared a glass of water, then took his time drinking.

"Enlighten me," she said tightly.

He took a few more swallows. "You're not really suggesting I'd risk my life because of a roll in the hay." He ran the cool glass across his forehead, tried to mentally push away the ache spreading through his chest; cleared his throat and turned back to her, "I shouldn't even have to answer that one, Marita. Yes, this _starts _with Agent Scully's cancer, but that's only the tip of the iceberg. That's all I can tell you." Krycek pushed away from the counter, "It's getting late. You probably want to get home." He crossed to the door and waited.

Marita stood and regarded him for a moment and then moved toward the door. "Be careful, Alex," she stopped and looked up into his eyes, "You're in uncharted territory, here." She walked out into the hall then stopped and turned back to him, "You could find yourself in worse shape than you've ever been."

He held up the note, "Thanks – for this… but you can save your concern for someone who needs it."

_**Krycek looked up **_at the departures board and swept over the lobby casually. Nothing raised his suspicions, for once, and he breathed a little easier. He made his way through the maze of stone planters that held carefully tended greenery and stood in line for the coffee that would get him through the next couple of hours. Digging in his coat pocket for the change, his fingers brushed against the disposable cell phone he'd purchased the day before, and his gut gave a little jolt of recognition. He pulled it out and stared at it for a long time.

_**The breeze drew**_ only one note out of the wind chime; still the sound made it's way through the haze of painkiller that did little to dampen any pain. It took her a minute to realize the sound she heard was the phone. Rolling onto her side, she glanced at the clock; just after two in the morning. She reached for the receiver; felt a little lurch in her stomach at the revived pain in her head. "Hello?" she managed a semi-coherent greeting.

A slight hesitation, then, "Dana."

One word…and every nerve ending stood at attention, "Alex?" she asked, careful to steady her breathing, "Where are you?" she pulled herself to a sitting position and strained to hear any identifiable background noises.

"I'm in an airport." His voice sent a current of warm sensation coursing straight through her body; it had been too long since she'd felt anything but the edge of pain. The effect was powerful. "How are you?" he asked.

_I'm dying, Alex..._ "I'm fine," propping the phone with her shoulder, she reached for the water glass by her bed, "I've been…ah – I've been sick…" The lump filled her throat, cutting off the last of her words.

A long silence – tense with understanding – answered her; then, "I know." She thought about the nosebleed she had, and how he took care of it. "You're still at home… that's good." he said softly.

"Yes… there's comfort here that I won't have at the hospital." Her mind jumped to the early morning hours in his bed, curled into his side; the peace and tranquility she felt as she awakened next to him. "I want to enjoy it for as long as I'm able…" she said.

"You can't give in to-" his words choked and stalled. She waited through his long silence, closing her eyes on the memory of him standing in the parking garage, shell shocked and hollowed out, and felt the ache and loneliness of that moment anew. Finally he said, "Don't give up, Dana. Fight it. With everything you've got." He started to say something, and stopped. After a moment he said, "I have to go." She tried to stop him, "Wait, when will-" But he'd already hung up the phone.

"Good-bye, Alex," she said and let the phone drop onto her bed.

_-End, Chapter 22-_

**AN:** _'The Wildness That Remains' is both the title of the poem and the title of the chapter. The poem is an original and as I reread it, I thought of Scully. I always thought she was tougher than Mulder ever gave her credit for. _

_Thanks, Sara – again – for your kind words. When I had Krycek show up at Marita's door, I knew he was going to end up bedding her. It just seemed a very natural reaction to being turned away by a woman for whom – despite his best efforts to the contrary – he'd developed very deep feelings. It just seemed right. (I'm kind of glad I didn't know about the silly rule…) _


	24. Bait and Switch

**Приманка и переключатель**

"_**Bait and Switch"**_

Zarzis, Tunisia

Roush Laboratories, North Africa Division

4th April

Krycek dragged his arm across his forehead to keep the sweat from dripping into his eyes, feeling the seconds tick as a palpable force. The lock was particularly stubborn, or – more likely – he was irreparably out of practice, and he felt just the edge of panic begin to intrude on his concentration. The whole operation had been a bumpy ride, exacerbating the unease he already felt caused by the lack of any time to spare.

Not to mention that picking a lock with one good hand was a statistical improbability to begin with.

He pulled the pick out and removed the wrench and stood still for a moment, gathering his concentration. It wasn't working. He couldn't 'feel' the clicks of the pins dropping onto the ledge with his artificial hand… but he didn't know if he'd be able to finesse the pick with it, either.

So much riding on this …stunt of his… and he'd not had his picks in his hands since before he lost his arm. There'd been no time to buy lock sets and relearn the skill before he'd gotten on the plane.

Taking a deep breath, he focused and settled in for another try. At the last minute, he switched hands and tried the wrench in his right hand, using his prosthetic hand to hold the pick. Closing his eyes, he flexed his left shoulder, bringing the prosthetic elbow in against his body and held the wrench steady in his right hand. Krycek let his breath out and focused, waiting for the soft 'click' that a lock picker _feels_ more than hears as he raked the pick by pulling his body back ever so slightly. Easing back almost imperceptibly, he felt the wrench in his hand transfer the slight 'chink' he was looking for and, in spite of himself, he smiled.

First pin down, five more to go.

Painstakingly, he stopped, took a deep breath and moved his left side just a shade back, mentally counting off each one; five… four…three… two… _holdyourbreath_… one. At the feel of the last pin dropping into place, he opened his eyes, took another deep breath and began to turn the wrench. The plug turned like clockwork.

"Just like old times," he said softly and, on impulse, kissed his prosthetic hand. "Thanks, _protivnik_," he said. He tucked his picks and wrench back into their case and cautiously pushed the door open.

The room was a study in shade and pools of light, giving it an eerie ambiance. Glass, chrome and white porcelain tricked his eye with reflections of his movements, forcing several unwarranted glances toward the door. Stacked neatly on shelves lining the room and on work stations in the center were fluid-filled jars with unidentifiable matter floating within. 'Frankenstein's Laboratory' came to mind as he began opening and mentally cataloguing the generic and uninteresting contents of the drawers.

His current objective was the proverbial needle in the haystack; and he had only the vaguest idea what this particular 'needle' looked like. The British Man was understandably oblique in his note, telling him that 'the object after which he'd enquired' could be found in Tunisia.

To the Syndicate, Tunisia always meant Strughold. Not exactly the man Krycek would desire to cross.

He slammed shut the drawer he was searching in frustration and shook his head. He didn't have time for this… didn't really have the proper motivation, either… _come half-way around the world for a woman who didn't even- _He stopped himself in mid-thought and swept his eyes around the room again. _More at stake here than just her,_ he told himself.

If he intended to get out with his hide intact, he'd have to step it up. He'd only had time to accumulate an hour's worth of stock video to splice into the surveillance feed; now he wished he'd gotten more. _Think, Alex…_ It was small, experimental, and pricey. They'd need to protect it – not just for the financial investment it represented, but for the man hours that had gone into its production, as well. He scanned the room again, and saw a refrigerator tucked against the back wall in the shadows. _'Hiding in plain sight'_ ran through his mind. Playing a hunch, he strode over to it and gave a hard yank on the door. It didn't budge. He squatted down, and flashed his pen light at the handle; it was locked. He smiled – '_something in there you don't want me to find...?'_ – clamped his penlight between his teeth and fished his kit out of his pocket.

Oddly enough, the refrigerator lock gave easier than the entry door. Opening it slightly, he reached around the edge until his fingers felt the spring switch for the light. He depressed the switch, opened the door and quickly unscrewed the utility bulb. _'Just in case,' _he thought. Aiding him in the search was the organization in the 'fridge – neatly stacked trays of small glass vials and not an overwhelming number of them. Reaching in from the back to the front, he began examining the vials one by one, holding them up to the penlight. In the middle of the second shelf, he found what he was looking for. Or, rather, what he _thought_ he might be looking for.

Floating around in a vial of de-ionized water – exactly like the others filled with various _metallic_ microprocessors – was a small flake of opaque…_nothing_, really. If someone didn't know what they were looking at, they might miss it. His gut gave a twist as his heart jumped ahead at the sight of it.

The most cutting edge research Strughold's money could buy was poured into this tiny silicon chip. Virtually undetectable by any _known_ surveillance equipment – it would pass practically unnoticed through MRI's, CAT's, X-Rays, reading as scar tissue – this tiny chip, designed to be the most advanced means of transferring information in the tech age. At least that was its _official_ designation; the true intentions surrounding the chip had everything to do with the coming global domination… and very little, consequently, to do with _any_ kind of information transfer.

Strughold's last, best effort to gain an edge on the invasion and he, Alex Krycek, held it in his hand. There was something almost poetic about that.

He pocketed the vial and screwed the utility bulb back in, careful not to let the light pop on and shut the refrigerator door. In order to save time, he didn't bother to engage the lock. _'I'll be long gone by the time they find it' _he thought. He took one last glance around the room, and then headed toward the door.

The unmistakable scrape of key in lock stopped him dead in the center of the room. Before he could think, the door opened; he pulled the glove off his hand with his teeth and stuffed it in his back pocket, drew his Mag light up like a gunslinger, and shined it into the intruder's face.

Startled eyes flew wide at the beam and the unmistakably feminine mouth shaped an 'O'. Krycek held his breath, and the woman didn't move for what seemed like an eternity, until she found her voice and demanded, "_Wer sind Sie und warum sind Sie in meinem Labor_? She sucked in a breath impatiently and added, "_Entfernen Sie Ihre Taschenlampe von meinen Augen_"

German… of course; his weakest language. "Uh… _Mein Deutsch _…is…uhm…_ ist schlecht; _uhm…speak…uh, _sprechen Sie Englisch?"_ …_and where exactly are you _going_ with this, Alex? _He proffered a tentative smile.

She arched an eyebrow at him and her mouth quirked, "I said, 'remove your flashlight from my eyes' _dummer Amerikaner,_" her mouth twitched again, "You got that last part, yes?" It was said in perfect, unaccented English.

As he lowered his flashlight, she immediately flicked at a wall switch, lighting half the room. Giving him a perfunctory glance, she surveyed his stolen security uniform and said simply, "Ach. You are new. _And_ American." Her mouth turned down in a little grimace, "_Oh, goodie,_" she snapped. Her authority established, she now moved into the room, stopping to look over some paperwork at the desk. Without giving him a further glance, she said, "You don't seem very sharp, either… but I suppose I shall have to work with what they give me." She sighed heavily and then gestured toward the refrigerator. "The samples on the first shelf; pack them into this box," she plucked it off the desk and held it out to him, "Load them into the front seat of the van in the dock," she turned back to her paperwork, and added, "Do be careful. Your pay would not begin to cover the cost of even one of those vials."

He sneered at her a little and turned toward the refrigerator but stopped just before he pulled it open, "Uhm… there's a lock…?" he said. She rolled her eyes, and he braced himself for her reaction to the lock being undone when she surprised him by reaching into her lab coat and tossing him the keys. He caught them and feigned opening the lock, all the while thanking whatever god there was that seemed to be smiling on him right now.

Krycek hefted the box toward the desk and stood, waiting for her to acknowledge him. She continued to pour over her paperwork. He cleared his throat, "Uh… is the van unlocked?" he asked.

She 'tsked' and muttered _"Bergbauer!" _under her breath and went right back to her work. "The key is on the ring I gave you. Do not take your time. I have other things I want moved before the rest get here."

He bit back the not-so-polite rejoinder that sprang to mind and pushed his way through the door. _'Yeah, right, lady… I'll get right on it_,_'_ he thought. As soon as he rounded the corner he gave a quick look around, then set the box on the floor and dropped the keys on top. He pushed through the stairwell exit, taking the stairs two at a time and disappeared into the dark of the early morning hours.

The Pentagon

Washington, D.C.

10th April

Krycek removed the slim, cigar-shaped roll from his shirt pocket and unrolled it carefully. He stuck his fingernail underneath the strip of blonde eyebrow and gently lifted it off the plastic sheeting, careful not to tear his handiwork. Placing it carefully over top his own, he glanced up at his reflection, making sure the eye brow was centered. Satisfied, he pushed down on it to get the spirit gum to adhere and made quick work of placing the other one. He did the same with the mustache; lifting carefully, centering and pressing it firmly to his upper lip.

Next, he pulled back the seal on the contact lenses and popped one, then the other in quickly, blinking to get them to settle properly. Fluffing his thumb over the eyebrow hairs to blend them more naturally with his own, he then stepped back and looked himself over critically. Good. The eyebrows and mustache, along with the brown contacts and quick dye job he'd given himself in the hotel room rendered him almost unrecognizable. As a final step, he pulled the patch with "Davis Tree Expert Co." professionally stitched in green and gold thread off the plastic and pressed it to the upper right breast pocket of the plain khaki work shirt he'd worn in.

He'd blend in nicely with the grounds crew working in the courtyard today.

He tightly rolled the packet back up, capped it with a Bic Stic top and stuck it into his pocket behind the badge. Pulling a chamois cloth from his back pocket he began wiping down every surface he'd touched; covering his tracks. Finally, he removed the brown cotton work gloves that he'd stuffed into his socks and pulled them over his hands. He grabbed the cane he'd brought with him and popping the rubber stopper off the end, gave it a hard shake until the tines popped out of the end. He pulled them free and extended the rest of the telescoping handle, removed the wire that held the rake tines together. Krycek took a deep breath, pulled the door open and walked out.

The grounds crew wasn't allowed to work in the courtyard between 10am and 2pm. He checked his watch. 1:52 pm. Perfect. He ambled easily over to the water fountain and took a few long pulls, taking the opportunity to glance around at the traffic in the hallway. Some suits, some tourists, the requisite uniformed guardsmen – routine traffic for a Thursday.

Krycek had been to the Pentagon on several occasions. There were over 25,000 people working at the behemoth building on any given day… and the whole structure – aside from the Smoker's nefarious hideaways – were open 24/7 to anyone who worked there. There might even be a few of those 25,000 who would recognize him if they caught a good look at him.

He didn't plan on anyone getting a good look at Alex Krycek.

Finishing with the water fountain, he stood slowly and wiped an arm across his mouth, careful not to pull his mustache. He checked his watch again; 2:00pm on the dot. He walked over toward the courtyard door and pushed through. He raked a little and watched the last of the hallway traffic dissipate. As the hallway cleared, he moved toward the concrete wall that hid the 'special' entrance. Taking one final glance around, he disappeared around the partition and quickly punched in the magic numbers on the keypad. He held his breath, and waited for the green light. A series of yellow and red flashes and then solid green; he was in.

Krycek stepped quickly into the narrow corridor, pulling the door behind him. He clipped his rake tines and slid the telescoping pole back in, recapped the end. Tucking the cane under his arm, he made his way down the tight steps and stopped just before reaching the basement landing. Peering around the corner, he braced himself for any uncomfortable confrontation. The landing was deserted. _At least for now._

He moved off the landing and strode toward the interior room, pulling the eyebrows and mustache off as he did so. He gave the patch on his shirt a hard yank, reached into his pocket, and unrolling the pouch, adhered them all back in place, rolled up the pouch and stuck it into his back pocket. The gloves he kept on. No need to leave finger prints and make it _too_ easy for them.

Taking the turns at a rapid pace – he knew the way, after all – he reached the big door with the fire procedure sign next to it, and stared for a moment… he flashed back to another heavy metal door. Suppressing an involuntary shudder he looked at the card reader and took a deep breath. Reaching for his wallet, he pulled out the card and giving a quick look around, he swiped it through the slot. It seemed an eternity before the red light popped on. He'd get two more tries before the security office got an alert. He took out the small piece of plastic bag that he'd cut out and folded into his wallet. Wrapping it carefully around the magnetic strip of the card and smoothing the wrinkles he took another deep breath and ran it quickly through the card reader. Pause; another eternity and it flashed red again. Damn. He was beginning to break a sweat.

He took the plastic off and rubbed it quickly over his pants leg, maybe a little static would help… He smoothed the plastic over the magnetic strip again, and quickly swiped the card for the third time. Involuntarily, he closed his eyes. He heard the slight pop, opened one eye, and the blessed green light greeted him.

Krycek pushed through the door, not giving himself a chance to lose his nerve. It had been a while since he'd been in this room; about four years, to be exact – back when he was that green protégé awed by the Consortium and so much potential for gaining power. Long ago and far away – when he still had stars in his eyes. He collected himself; looked right and left… and then propelled himself by sheer will into the room. He knew, almost instinctively, which aisle he was looking for. He made his way up the ladder to the box with "Scu - Scy" lettered on the front and pulled it out, walked his fingers back through the dividers to the one marked 'Scully, Dana Katherine' and pulled the card from the box, tucking it in his shirt pocket. He lowered himself down a couple of rungs on the ladder and then jumped to the floor.

Krycek looked around warily and made his way to the other room that held the chips catalogued in the file boxes. He glanced at the card, and began checking the numbers against the ones on the shelves of boxes. He found the box he was looking for and pulled it from the shelf. It contained a tray of vials, similar to the ones he'd carried in with him. He removed the vial marked MN 1068-06 and took the empty vial out of his pocket and carefully emptied the contents of it into the empty, tapping it to dislodge the tiny metallic chip along with the water. Capping it securely, he slipped it into his pocket and pulled the vial with the silicon chip out of his other pocket, uncapped it and emptied it into MN 1068-06. He capped it and, impulsively, kissed the tips of his gloved fingers and touched the lid of the vial before putting it back into the tray and replacing the box on the shelf. Moving quickly, he replaced Dana's card back in the proper file box and ducked out of the room.

Making his way along the low-ceilinged corridor, he tore his cotton gloves off with his teeth and headed towards the underground exit. Stopping at the furnace, he tossed the gloves into the fire, gave another look around and then stripped off his work shirt and pants, relishing the release from two layers of clothing. He pulled the dark shades from the shirt pocket and the rolled packet from the pants then tossed the discarded uniform in behind the gloves; stood for a moment and watched them burn until they were ash. He put on the shades and flipping the cane in front of him, pushed through the door to outside. He breathed the mild afternoon air in deeply.

It was done. All hell would break loose, and he'd be a marked man when his bait and switch was discovered.

But by then it would be too late.

_-End, Chapter 23-_

**AN: **_German… _Scully_ speaks German. I couldn't resist making the female scientist a German speaker… but it would be too cutesy to then make Krycek a fluent speaker of German, as well. So, he's not. He's quite bad with German, actually ;-) _

_As usual, I abused BabelFish to get the words and the translation is thus: "Who are you and why are you in my laboratory." And (as she says) "Get that flashlight out of my eyes."_

_I have no intention to cast aspersions on the wonderful security of the Pentagon. My card reader malfunction scenario is strictly fabrication. Also?- I have no idea if a silicon chip can be made to hold complicated programming…but I _do_ know that some of the higher quality silicon is usually stored via refrigeration._

_I got the appearance of lock picking knowledge from 'how stuff works'– but they won't tell you how to _actually_ pick a lock, my friends, sorry._

'Protivnik' _the Russian word for 'enemy' (I think Krycek would view his prosthetic that way) _

_I enjoyed this chapter – I love writing action-packed chapters wherein Alex is shown to be a mover and a shaker. He's a resourceful dude and a man of many talents… I'm finding it much easier and more fun than the sexually charged chapters… and you know what that means…_

_I'll have to write more sexually charged chapters to get over that difficulty… ;-) _


	25. Razor's Edge

**край бритвы**

"_Razor's Edge"_

_**Quick footfalls echoed**_ off the walls of the cavernous warehouse and she spun just in time to catch a figure jumping her in the near darkness. "Federal officer – HALT!" she managed just before impact. The force of the assailant's weight shoved her into the hard concrete and she braced herself in time to prepare for the teeth rattling impact of her head on the cement. Dazed but twisting with every ounce of strength, she was able to force them into a roll across the floor. Unfortunately, her opponent came out on top.

"Sonofabitch," she gritted between her clenched teeth. She struggled against her attacker but he was fast, pinning her hands with one of his own above her head. Thrashing, attempting to unseat him, she kicked hard at the floor. The sound of her boot heels thumping the floor punctuated their struggle, coupled with her breath whistling harshly. Her knee made contact with his tailbone and she took advantage of his surprise, wriggled her wrists free, reached for her shoulder holster and yanked it over her head, pulling her knit cap off with it. She whipped at his back with it, but had little leverage to really make the blows count. At least she'd stopped his progress.

"Dana, dammit! – Stop!" he was breathing hard from the struggle. "Quit it – you've hit your head!" He held his hand up in surrender, sat back and ripped off his dark ski-cap. "And-" he gasped, "that _hurts_!" He was breathing hard, and still had her legs pinned beneath him.

"Alex?!" she stopped in mid swing. "What are you doing here?" she asked. In a burst of ferocity, she rolled her hips hard to the right, "Get OFF me!" she grunted.

He lurched at her unexpected buck and landed on his left side. He grunted, rolled awkwardly to his back and pulled himself up to sitting, dazed. She got to her feet shakily as he stood up, taking his time. They faced off in tense, wary silence, both struggling for breath. Alex studied her face in the dim light, felt the current of electricity surge through him. "Why are you here – shouldn't you be on desk duty?" he asked and wiped his sleeve over his mouth.

"What am I doing–?" Her eyes hardened, "I'm doing my job, Alex," she raked a hand through her damp hair, "This-" she waved her hand at the plane wreckage surrounding them, "…is still an active investigation." Her chin dipped and she evaded his gaze, "You should leave." She turned and headed toward the overhead door, called back over her shoulder, "Now."

"Not yet." He hadn't moved from the spot where she'd left him, simply stood watching her retreating back. Tried to ignore the effect her soft sway had on him. "Dana-" she stopped but didn't turn around, "I haven't seen you in three months." He moved toward her, "You can't spare a minute?"

She spun on her heel and advanced toward him. "What is this? Alex Krycek, going soft and sensitive?" She stopped as her boots kicked into his, and cocked an eyebrow at him, "I've spared a lot of minutes for you in the last three months." He noticed her upper lip beaded with sweat; watched transfixed as she impatiently licked her tongue out and the beads disappeared. "I waited, Alex, patiently – I tried your cell and got no answer. Several times." She drew in a shaky breath, "Then – out of the blue – you call me in the middle of the night from who-knows-where and tell me to 'hang in there' like we we're old _buddies_." She balled her fists at her side. "You have no idea what I've been through while you've been M.I.A." She seemed unsettled for a moment, but held his gaze. "This isn't exactly the best way to build professional trust, Alex."

He returned her challenge, studied her intently. "So… your concerns are purely professional, then. You're worried I'm going to double cross you… get you in trouble with your pal Mulder?" She faltered slightly, and he felt the little spark of meanness light up his gut. He leaned in close, "Awww, what's the matter, did I hit a sore spot…_Agent Scully_?"

"There's no _one_ spot when it comes to you, _Krycek_," she snapped.

Her face was tilted up toward his, her nostrils flaring slightly, and he wanted to kiss her. "You're angry? At me?" He strangled out a terse chuckle, "I only gave you what you wanted, Dana – I didn't walk away-"

"No… you didn't." Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, "You _ran,_" she shoved him back roughly. "_Coward._"

The cold started at his chest and spread, slowly. Alex looked into her eyes and forcefully called up images of her, vulnerable and naked, in his bed. "Be careful, Dana…" he whispered. "Try to remember what I do for a living before you call names."

"Awww, what's the matter, _Krycek_-" his name sounded like a curse, "Did I hit a sore spot?" she taunted. Her voice and her face were pulled tight in a savage grin.

Alex grabbed her and shoved her back against the wall, leaned in close, "There's no _one _spot where it concerns you… _Dana_." He whispered her name against her lips, "It's all raw," kissed the side of her mouth, "Exposed," trailed his lips over her throat, "Damaged," finally landing on the smooth skin above the collar of her shirt. He felt her pulse, quick but steady, beneath his lips. Before he fully came to his senses her hands were in his hair and her lips on his, and he felt the impact of his own damnation full force.

"Don't stop, Alex… don't stop there…" she whispered into his mouth.

Kissing her was eating fire; it was hell disguised as heaven. It electrified his insides, threatened to eat him alive and he _wanted_ to be consumed. Wanted to fall from the precipice and be lost forever. He had to force himself to pull back, regain his focus. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back. "Listen, you _witch_-" she opened her mouth in protest, and he brought his prosthetic hand up to her lips, "Just listen, Dana – there's not much time."

He brought his hand away, cautiously, testing her silence. She was angry, but managed a tight, "Go on."

"The Smoker is losing credibility with the Group. He needs _leverage._ He's going to offer something to Mulder – something valuable – in a last ditch effort to gain Mulder's allegiance." He struggled to maintain his breathing, felt the toxic, heady mix of her scent and her parted lips -_so close_- blunting his instincts. "When this object is presented to you… _take it_, Dana."

"What is it?" she asked simply.

"Can't say. You'll know it when you see it." He forced his eyes away from her, swept the warehouse quickly. "And you'll know what to do with it, too." He leaned into her, surrendering to the pull of her body on his.

She brought him out of the spell with a jerk, "You bastard," she whispered into his ear, "Why?"

The corner of his lip pulled in an almost smile, and he leaned back to look at her, "You _need_ someone to push you onto that ledge, Dana. You've got a bunch of soft, whipped men around you, cooing over your every ache, and encouraging you to 'take it easy'…" He tightened his arm around her waist, "You need a man to _push_ you, because sometimes, the only way out is through the window and down the side of the building."

Her eyebrow shot up, "Oh, and you're _that_ man, huh?" she asked.

"I'm _your _man," he leaned in and crushed her lips with his; felt the pleasure spread through him as she returned his kiss. He brought his head up and looked around, "You're about to have company – I gotta go." Reluctantly, he pulled away from her and headed for the exit.

She shivered and caught herself, "Wait a minute – your cell, I don't-"

"I'll get you the new number," he cut her off, then turned and took the last few steps backwards, "And when you get well… I'm gonna make you see double, you _minx_."

Dana smiled faintly and sank down to the floor. She sat there for several long moments, shaking her head at herself… at him… the situation. "Impossible," she muttered.

"What's impossible?" Mulder called out to her. His face was drawn up in concern, "Scully, why can't you -" He stopped and knelt down beside her, "What's the matter? Are you okay?"

She looked up at him, his face a picture of soft-focus concern… solicitous and …_whipped_. She almost smiled to spite herself. "Nothing – I'm fine, Mulder." She glanced toward where Krycek had disappeared into the dark, felt a little ripple of denied longing tingle through her. "Just… _frustrated_," she managed and took his proffered hand.

"Well," he looked around warily, "Let's get you out of here," he said. Scully let him lead her out of the building, let him guide her gingerly into the waiting cruiser; even let him walk her to the door of her apartment, as he murmured quiet admonishments to her.

It was _nice_…and _respectable_… and _safe…_ being cared for, made over… treated like a china doll in danger of breaking… But it wasn't what she _wanted._

She _wanted_… the ledge.

_-End, Chapter 24-_

**AN: **I won't plead… We are all busy; I know that. But – and this is _hard_ for me to ask – if you're reading… may I have some feedback?


	26. On the Dark Side

**На темной стороне**

"_On The Dark Side"_

_**When it finally **_happened, it occurred with mind-numbing swiftness. The last coherent memory she had entailed struggling through her testimony before Section Chief Blevins; the next, waking to the sounds and smells of the ER at Trinity. The moments in between were a surreal blur in her mind; no amount of concentration yielded anything more than disjointed recollections against the vague backdrop of fear.

And now, Mulder stood before her, playing to the hostile room that was her immediate family, trying to convince them that an alien microchip would be her salvation.

And failing miserably.

She fingered the vial that held her supposed deliverance; such a tiny object full of so much uncertainty, so much promise –

An object… come into her possession…

"…_you'll know it when you see it… and you'll know what to do with it, too…"_

"I'd like to try this," she said and everyone in the room turned to her as one.

Her mother's lips parted in a little 'o', the worry creasing a line between her eyes, "Dana… are you …sure?" she asked. Bill paced back and forth a couple of times, shot a disparaging look at Mulder and walked out the door. Mulder settled his face into a wan smile, patted her foot and shuffled after her brother.

"Mom, I'm out of options," she answered, "But if this chip was made by the same people who made the other one…then-" she took a deep breath; let it out in a heavy sigh, "… I don't know. At this point…it couldn't hurt." Her mother offered a wobbly smile of encouragement that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"_**He's dead." The**_ cultured accent gave the blunt statement elegance. It could have been crude and laced with profanity; no matter. The effect on Krycek would have been the same.

He smiled. After a protracted silence, he finally asked, "When?"

"Does it matter?" the British man asked.

Krycek almost laughed, but checked himself. The Smoker still had friends pocketed everywhere. And they were probably listening. "Guess not," he said. "Does this change anything?" he asked, more as a formality than any real concern.

"Only for the better, my boy… only for the better." It was a bold statement, but not unwarranted. The British man had been quietly working toward this end for the better part of a year. It was a major coup. "Good night, Alex. I suspect you'll sleep well tonight." And he hung up.

Krycek palmed his phone thoughtfully, and a slow smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He picked up his keys and walked out into the first sunshine he'd seen in a week.

_**Two hours later**_, dressed in scrubs and a lab coat with a surgical mask tied loosely around his face, Krycek made his way quickly through the halls of the hospital. His badge read 'Doctor Vic Takayama' and he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to get away with it for too long. No one gave him a second glance, though. Apparently, face masks were standard in the oncology wing.

He stopped at the nurse's station, and glanced around before picking up the patient list. Krycek located the room number quickly and ducked around the corner. As he approached her room, he slowed and looked through the window; no visitors. She was turned on her side, toward the outside window.

Giving a quick glance up the corridor, he walked to the door, hesitating only a moment before pushing down on the handle. Once inside, he turned to look back through the window and his shoe squeaked on the floor. She rolled onto her back, looked blankly at him for a moment before letting out a little gasp of shock.

"Alex!" She pulled the sheet up to her neck, "Go a-WAY."

He chuckled softly as he approached her bed. "What's the matter, Dana? I've seen everything that hospital gown reveals, you know…"

Dana rolled onto her back, and narrowed her eyes. "Alex…" her voice was soft, pleading, her lip quivering slightly. Something lurched inside him and he moved to her bedside. He reached up to stroke her hair. "Get bent," she whispered.

And he laughed. "That's the spirit," he said. He reached behind him and pulled the visitor's chair up close to the bed and sat on the edge of it. "Did you do it?" he asked.

She smiled and, in spite of the dark circles under her eyes and the fatigue from long nights being poked and prodded every two hours, the spark was still there. "What do you think?" she countered.

Alex leaned in close, his nose almost touching hers, and pulled the mask away from his face, "I think you're beautiful, that's what I think." It was an unguarded comment; out of character for him, and his mouth felt suddenly dry. She appeared to be as affected by it as he felt and the awkward silence stretched for a bit.

She collected herself first. "You seem chipper… Doctor _Takayama_." She had just let him off the hook, and they both knew it.

He glanced down at the forgotten badge. "Yeah – first one I came to. Not a particularly good match, eh?" He shifted in the chair, leaned back and studied her. Color still off, hair disheveled and on the down-side of thin. "Alright… let's have it."

Her eyebrow quirked up; always a good sign. "Have what?" she asked.

"The prognosis, Dana." He crossed his arm over his chest and looked down at his shoes, "Are you…" He took a deep breath; changed tacks, "Did it work?" His voice sounded dry and thin to his own ears.

She rolled away from him and lifted the hair at the back of her neck. Her fingers gingerly traced over the gauze and tape. "It's in there, Alex…" she didn't roll back toward him, "doing…whatever …" She trailed off, sighed heavily; then, "The first round of tests have been …well, nothing is _worse_, at least."

His fingers itched to trace the vaguely punk look of her shaved hairline; instead he pulled a foot up and tapped her bottom lightly. "Hey-" she didn't look at him, so he continued, "don't be rude…I'm visiting on _borrowed time_, here."

She rolled back over and fixed him with a mildly disgusted look. "I look terrible. I'm not exactly comfortable with you seeing me like-" she looked herself over quickly, "Like _this._"

He snorted. "'Vanity, vanity…all is-'" he quoted mock seriously. Her eyes filled anew and she turned away. "Hey… Dana, hey-" he came off the chair and sat on the side of her bed, "I didn't mean – you don't look _that_ bad –" _Damn._ "I didn't mean it that way…" She didn't turn back around and her shoulders began to shake a little. _Crap._ "Hey," he said it almost gently, "I'm sorry…"

But she was …_laughing._ She managed a little strangled, "Gotcha!" and he rolled to his feet with a disgusted grunt.

"Shut up, Dana." Alex remained standing by her bedside, and glanced back at the door. She turned back toward him, her face still tightly screwed up in an attempt at suppressing a smile. "Taking advantage of my pity..." He leaned down and 'tsk'd' a couple of times, "You..." he growled, "are in _so much trouble._" Before she could deflect him, he planted a lusty kiss on her lips. "I should get out of here," he announced and moved toward the door.

"Not so fast," she stopped him, "Now that I've actually had it implanted in my neck, I'd like to know where the chip came from, Alex." She was no longer smiling.

Not for the first time, he was struck with how quickly she could transition from pleasure to business. Seamlessly. He was impressed. "Our dearly departed good friend, Ol' Smokey." The smile left his face, "But don't ask how," he looked at her pointedly, "I will _not_ tell you, Dana."

Her face balanced precariously between stubbornness and resignation. They locked eyes, silently challenging each other for a tense moment, but she opted for surrender first. "When can I expect your next…_appearance_?" she asked casually.

His mouth curled; she was trying to be cool. "As soon as you hit the door to your apartment, after this little…_vacation_ is over." He moved toward the door again.

"Just a minute – you said _'departed'_-" She looked at him expectantly, "Cancer Man is…is _dead_?"

"As a doornail," he said without the slightest trace of emotion, "Shot, long-range by a sniper, shortly after you were taken to the emergency room." He gripped the doorknob, "If he weren't… I wouldn't be here." With that, he slipped out the door and disappeared down the hall.

Leaving her, once again, with more questions than answers.

_-End, Chapter 25-_

**AN:** Once again, thank you for reading. I particularly liked the last two chapters, as well. Sneaky and smoldering is my favorite way to write Alex Krycek. _(For Sara –aka southern cross: You're always missed when you don't make an appearance, but never taken for granted. I, too, am a mom of two children, so I know free time is of a premium. Any amount you give to my story is a gift, and muchly appreciated.)_


	27. Once, Twice, Three Times

**Однажды Дважды Трижды**

"_Once, Twice, Three Times"_

_**For a moment**_, she seemed stuck in suspended animation. The keys dangling from her hand, still and silent, attested her indecision. _You shouldn't be here, shouldn't be ali- _But she forced the thought from her mind. If she was here, there was good reason for it, and besides, 'miraculous' cures happened all the time.

She'd simply accept it. On faith.

Didn't make it any easier to get through that door, though. "You going to stand there all afternoon… or are you going to open that door so I can come in out of the cold?" Ah, that voice… broke her out of her reverie as surely as if he'd thrown a bucket of cold water on her.

Only, cold water couldn't produce the sudden heat that torched her insides. _Alex._ "It's November," she said without turning around, "Maybe you should invest in a heavier coat…" She slid the key into the lock and nudged the door open with her hip. "I'll just leave the door op-"

Before she took another step, Alex slipped out of the shadow of the landing, pulled her into her apartment and pushed her roughly against her front door, effectively slamming it shut.

Then he kissed her, full and deep and long, like her lips were water and he was a thirsty man. Just as her arms curled up around his neck, he pulled away. "Welcome home," he said as he crouched down and slung her over his shoulder, heading toward the door of her bedroom. She hadn't even had time to blink. "Hello to you, too, Alex," she said. But she couldn't quite keep the laugh out of her voice.

He strode through her bedroom door and dropped onto her bed, lowering her to straddle his lap. Deftly undoing the top buttons on her blouse, he planted several kisses to her neck before he stopped and gave her a wicked grin.

His fingers tangled in her hair and he gave a little tug. "Hello later, sex now," he growled. She grabbed the hem of his Henley and pulled up, then slipped her hands under the edge of his t-shirt. She felt him shudder at her touch and the answering shiver that went through her. She had missed him, more than she thought possible. His skin, his scent, the feel of his mouth caressing her… Sense memory took over, silently scolding her for depriving herself of him for so long He was her cure, he was her recovery; not some _chip_…

"Oh god, Dana…I _need_ you…" he whispered, as if he'd read her mind. They fell back onto the bed, both still half-dressed but delaying was no longer possible. She felt for the drawer next to her bed, not quite able to reach. Alex pulled his mouth away from hers, "Shirt pocket," he rasped. She pulled the packet out and ripped it open, her hands shaking as she covered him. He didn't break eye contact; and she held his gaze, reading hunger, pure and raw.

She almost climaxed just from that look.

He pulled her down onto him swiftly, almost savage and she clung to him as they moved together. A few desperate moments passed before she came, gasping into his ear. Seconds later, he swore softly as he allowed his own release to shudder through him.

They remained still, watching the shadows move across the room; both spent and panting. When they'd caught their breath, Alex chuckled softly, and pushed them both up to sitting. "Now that we got _that_ out of the way…"

She looked up at him, barely suppressing the grin threatening the corners of her mouth. "What's next?" she said, "A game of pool and tequila body shots?"

"Naked, at a biker bar." He slid his hand up her thigh, ran his finger under the band of her stockings; snapped the elastic. "I like these, though…" he glanced down and then looked back up, a wolfish glint in his eye, "Don't have to take them off to get down to business." She smiled sheepishly and he tugged at her tasteful blouse, "What a dirty little secret you wear under those uptight work clothes, Special Agent Dana Scully…"

Dana held his gaze for a long moment, struggling against the laughter bubbling up. "This is …surreal," she managed finally, "Alex Krycek scolding me about my underwear…" She attempted to get up but his arm held her fast. "Alex…?"

"Just…sit a minute." He adjusted slightly under her and she felt him expand inside her. Her eyes flew up, startled, but he just smiled. "I wasn't finished," he said huskily.

"_**Holy cow, Alex**_," she panted and rolled onto her bed, "_Three_ times in less than four hours? What _was_ that?" She turned toward him, taking in his profile; he was staring at her bedroom ceiling, a slight smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

"That," he looked sideways at her, and his eyes glittered darkly, "is what happens when you come back from the dead…" He pushed himself up to sitting and yanked his t-shirt over his head. "I'm… hungry," he said, "and thirsty. You got anything in the fridge?" he asked without turning around. He tugged his jeans up one-handed as he stood, and for a brief moment, she caught a glimpse of his naked backside. He turned and caught her staring and grinned. "Oh, stop," he muttered and headed toward the kitchen.

"Hey, make yourself at home," she called out and then, on impulse, plucked his Henley off the floor and slipped into it. She buttoned it as she strolled, bare-foot and hair askew, into the kitchen. He peered at her from above the fridge door, "I am-" and froze.

"What?" she looked down and back up quickly.

He shook his head slightly and bent back down to finish his survey of her refrigerator contents, "God, Dana… – that shirt…" He straightened and shut the door. "Keep it. Wear it every time I'm here." He whistled lightly between his teeth.

She rolled her eyes and sauntered toward him, reaching into the cabinet for a glass, "Huh. Does the enigmatic Alex Krycek have an Achilles heel?" she asked. She moved across to the sink, filled her glass at the faucet and took a long drink, then handed him the half-filled glass.

He downed it in one long pull, setting it on the counter when he'd drained it. After he studied her a moment, he answered, "Why would you be interested in my weaknesses, Dana?"

"It might be useful information to have, Alex, on someone so…unpredictable," she shot back. His eyes were boring into hers, and she held his gaze, refusing to back down from the obvious challenge.

He cut the distance between them quickly and pinned her against the counter. "_Give_ me a reason, Dana…" he was controlled but she could feel the tension vibrating through him, "Give me a reason to walk away and not look back." He cursed under his breath, "_You_ are my Achilles heel. You've been trouble from minute one…I should-" He pushed himself away from her and leaned back on the opposite counter, rubbing at his eyes, "I should have disappeared the second you handed me your car keys."

"Why didn't you?" she asked, trying and failing to keep the harsh tone from her voice. _Where was this sudden hostility coming from?_ "You think this has been a picnic for me? I've had to sneak around… pretending to my partner, my boss – my _family_, Alex – that something enormously _wrong_ isn't mushrooming in my life…" she let out an explosive breath, "All this… for what? What _is_ this, Alex?"

He feigned an innocent expression, but a little crease of tension slashing the bridge of his nose betrayed him. "This was an arrangement, Dana. A _business_ arrangement. Remember? You made me an offer I couldn't-"

She snorted. "This hasn't been about business in a long time, and you know it. Stop trying to con me." Stepping up to him, her arms crossed over her chest, she said, "You know what happens when you come back from the dead, Alex? You get very…_impatient._" She sighed heavily and slowly shook her head. "I can't do this anymore," she said.

"Then don't." He shifted positions slightly but his gaze didn't waver.

"I want more." She attempted to keep her voice calm but failed.

He only smiled, "You can't always get what you want."

"It's been over eight months, Alex…since -" she swallowed dry, embarrassed but determined, "since we…did what we just…_did._" She took a deep breath and hugged herself tighter. "I don't have one night stands, I just don't. When I'm with someone…I'm not _with_ anyone else…"

"What a waste, then." His lips curled into a smirk and his eyes danced wickedly. He was attempting to derail her, and she felt anger flush her face. Without thinking, she reached up and smacked him, hard, where flesh joined rigid plastic. He flinched slightly but otherwise remained implacable. "Are you finished, yet?" he asked.

"I haven't even _started_." She thrust her index finger into his chest, "Alex Krycek, double agent, felon; slipping in and out of-"

"Come away with me, Dana," he interrupted.

"-dangerous situations, taking no prisoners, leaving no trail. You can't just slip in and out of my-" She blinked at him, "What did you say?"

"Jamaica…Bahamas…" he smiled, "Come on, pretty mama…"

For a moment, she stood there dumbfounded. He wouldn't be serious. She shook her head and turned on her heel, heading back to the bathroom. He followed her closely, singing the stupid song, trying to cover his laughter. She whirled on him, "You can't possibly _like_ the Beach Boys, Alex," she said. "They're not your…_style._"

He was close, so close she could see the faint web of wrinkles at the outer corners of his eyes. "This isn't fair, Alex…"

"What _is_, Dana?" The potential for a light moment evaporated in his sobered look. "I knew, from the night at my house…that our first time together would likely be our last. This?" he gestured between them, "Every time since… is a bonus." He curled his arm around her and pulled her to him, she resisting a little, and leaned against the door frame. "I don't take it for granted but I can't let it bother me, either." He waited, but she remained silent. "I never…laugh, Dana. My life is grim…I don't like or trust the people I'm forced to work with…" he let out a ragged breath, "You're it. I …_smile_ when I'm with you. Do you know what a relief that is? To actually _relax_ the muscles in my face?"

"Stop it," she looked away; she didn't want to let him diffuse her frustration. "Don't patronize me, Alex."

"Who's patronizing? You've got one of the quickest minds I've ever come across." He lifted her chin so she'd look at him, "You're a force to be reckoned with, Dana Scully. You don't think I know that?" He shifted her around so her back was to the wall, draped his arm above her head and touched his forehead to hers, "The offer is still on the table…and you didn't answer me." He leaned in closer, his lips brushing hers, "Tell me you'll go away with me…" He kissed her until she began to yield to him, then pulled away, teasing, "Even if it's a lie… lie to me, Dana…tell me 'yes.'"

Reaching her hands up around his neck, she attempted to pull his mouth back to hers, but he evaded her grasp and headed back towards her bedroom, "Uh-unh," he grinned, "Answer, first."

"Alex…" she pleaded. She stopped in her doorway and watched him slipping into his boots. "What's your rush?" He looked up and sighed in mock frustration. "Come _on_, Alex… you know I don't make snap decisions…"

He snorted and shook his head at her, "I disagree – you've gotten very good at them, actually…"

"It's mostly your fault." She pulled a face and sat down next to him; grabbed his hand to stop his progress. "Quit… I- Alex, stop!"

His lips quirked at her, but he continued to pull his other boot on with her hand attached to his wrist. "Simple yes or no answer will do, Dana…" He stood and in a couple of long strides was nearly to the kitchen.

She had to move quickly to catch up; reached out and grabbed a fistful of his jacket as his hand reached the doorknob. "Stop!" She glared at him, "Yes, alright? Yes."

"Good. Now, pack." He opened the door and turned toward her, "Oh, and Dana?"

"What?" she wouldn't look at him.

"Bring that shirt."

_End, Chapter 26_

**AN:** _Alex Krycek does _not_ like the Beach Boys. That is all. _

_Okay, that wasn't all. I struggled with this one, because I like the banter between Alex and Dana, but to go the opposite direction – into fluffy bunny land – is NOT love. So I struggled, hoping it wasn't fluffy, that it had enough of a rough edge, but was still lover-like in its tone. Because I think we can safely say that Alex and Dana are absolutely lovers. Hope it's satisfactory. _

_And… the title should be self-explanatory. (snicker) _


	28. Stay

**Пребывание**

"_**Stay"**_

_**After he'd left**_ her apartment, he rushed through packing, finally stripping his clothes off while he made his way toward the bathroom. As he turned on the taps, he caught the barest hint of her scent still clinging to his body and, smiling at his reflection in the mirror, made a conscious decision to skip the shower.

Hours later sitting in the terminal with less than an hour before their flight, Alex wiled away the time plotting ways to get her into the lavatory after take-off.

Casually, he glanced across the terminal and caught her studying him, a slight smile playing at her lips. In spite of himself, he grinned – _'I can read your mind, woman,'_ he thought. In that brief moment, he felt the connection like a current climb his spine. It nearly knocked the breath from his chest.

He was in serious trouble. A wicked grin slowly propped the corners of his mouth; _so was she._ Anticipation sped through his system, sending a pulse to the ends of his limbs – what was left of them, anyway. _If_ he felt a little on edge, he blamed it on that.

Probably why he wasn't prepared when a terminal agent who looked like a linebacker approached him in a nonchalant and unhurried way and asked quietly, "A word, Mister Krycek?"

The hairs on his neck stood up; Alex hadn't used his real name when purchasing his ticket.

He glanced quickly toward Dana and just as quickly away, silently cursing himself for his blunder. Rising cautiously from his seat, he leveled his eyes at the hired muscle.

"She won't be apprehended if you come quietly." The Linebacker was smooth and professional, despite appearances. Discreet, too; he'd barely raised his voice above a whisper.

After a moment's hesitation, Alex simply nodded and followed the muscle's lead. Alex turned and caught Dana's alarmed glance; he mouthed 'Go' and hoped she'd gotten the message as they disappeared into the fire exit.

As soon as they cleared the opening and the door snapped shut the muscle turned and jabbed Alex in the neck with a hypodermic. He sank back against the wall, shocked at the swiftness of the drug on his system.

His field of vision began to constrict and in his last conscious moments he thought he heard the smoking bastard's phlegmy voice rasping about the time. Then all went dark.

_**There are moments**_ that are so perfect, so succinct, so unbearably faultless in their intent and focus that -even when nightmarish- they become luridly appealing in their impeccability.

The mind slips, when the body is concerned with escape or survival, into a kind of observational state wherein the circumstances one is forced to endure become something of a stage play. A kind of cognitive dissonance ensues, which allows the person to respond to overwhelming stimuli with pure, life-saving instinct.

At such times the body goes into overdrive, and the mind shifts into low gear, processing as if observer instead of participant. The overload of attack on the body's natural fight or flight instinct rewires the brain – in an instant – in order to accomplish the one overriding goal of every organism.

To survive.

Sitting across from him in the airport terminal, Scully allowed herself to believe – for that moment – that they were like any other two people in the world; waiting out the minutes that separated them. That they could escape the hellish reality of their oddly conjoined world for just…one weekend. It almost seemed selfish, now. To want that badly.

She felt the tears pricking the corners of her eyes and shook her head to clear it. When the oversized ticket agent had approached Alex, Scully immediately knew something was off. The guy didn't _look_ right. She'd forced herself to swallow the panic climbing her insides like mercury, slow and steady. She waited – on the improbability of Alex walking back through the door; on the off chance that the grunt in the uniform _really was_ a ticket agent… waited for one of them to come for her as well. All the while she knew. She knew he'd vanished and she'd be left to piece it all together.

Scully stood abruptly, grabbed her overnight bag from the floor before she could change her mind, and joined the lazy afternoon traffic of the airport terminal. If they wanted her, they were going to have to make a scene. She wouldn't stay put and play nice.

After she arranged for a refund on her ticket and cleared the baggage claim area, the red alert in her system had decreased to highly aware. It looked as though she were going to walk out of the airport scot free.

By the time she'd reached her car she was sinking into recriminations; she should have followed them, tried to find out if Alex needed help. But no. She didn't have that kind of chutzpah; she couldn't risk her already beleaguered position in the Bureau machine to try to help a known felon and high priority Most Wanted. Whether she was sleeping with him or not. She repeatedly assured herself that Alex, of all people, would do the same.

Making the drive from the airport to her home afforded her plenty of time to brood, and by the time she'd pushed open her front door she'd almost convinced herself that she would – if Alex should show up again, that is – end it for good.

"Don't turn on the light, Agent Scully." Her hand stalled in mid-reach for the light switch; the familiar voice sent a chill through her, constricting her midsection into a tight knot of fear. She forced herself through the doorway and dropped her bags heavily beside her entry table.

Scully took advantage of the low light to discreetly check her weapon at her hip. "What the hell do you want, and how did you get in?" she asked. She was careful to keep her voice at dead calm. "The assumption is that you're dead."

"Maybe I'm the Ghost of Christmas Present," he said in a bemused tone, "come early to show you all you can do to change your future."

He stirred on her couch and she brought her weapon up fast, "Don't move…I have no compunction about killing you, you Sonofabitch." She moved toward him slowly, careful to keep her weapon trained on his midsection. "What have you done with him-," her voice broke and she cursed herself before going on, "Where's Alex?" she ground out.

"Oh… it's 'Alex' is it?" he continued in the slightly mocking tone. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his ever-present pack of Morley's, "Do you mind?" he said without hesitating before lighting one.

"Yes – put it out." she said simply.

He smiled – somehow she could tell in the darkness – and said, "You have no ashtrays, Dana."

"Put it out between your fingers, for all I care." She stood in front of him, her legs braced execution style. At that moment, the thought crossed her mind, _Who would know? If I did him, right here in my living room; who would care? I'd be doing-_ but she cut the thought off at the stem. She wouldn't descend to his level. Ever.

He stood, then, and walked toward her stopping only when the gun barrel pressed against his sternum. "I like you, Agent Scully; it's why I placed you in your current position to begin with." Spender took another drag of his cigarette, blew the smoke in Scully's face, and then reached up, wet his fingertips and extinguished the glowing tip. "There. I put it out."

Her gun hand began to shake as a wave of nausea hit her. "I'm not impressed by you. I'm not under your thumb – no matter what you think." She took an unconscious step backward, "You can kill me, but it will only bring scrutiny you don't want to activities you wish to keep hidden … so I know you won't do it." Scully stopped abruptly; she was allowing him to see her weakness displayed in vivid color. A mistake for which she didn't have the luxury.

"Why do you think Alex gave up without a fight, Dana? Without so much as turning around to see if you were in danger?" His voice took on an indefinable quality – pity? commiseration? Scully couldn't tell. "Alex is an opportunist, Dana… he likes you, I'm sure…but when an opportunity for personal gain presents itself, Alex will always jump at the chance, Dana," he smiled sympathetically at her, "You know this, Agent; I'm not disabusing you of any illusions."

All the fight whistled out of her in one swift gust. She _did_ know this about Alex, if she knew nothing else. Hadn't he told her so – on many occasions – himself? Hadn't she just been on the brink of acknowledging that fact before she stepped through her own front door only moments ago?

So. Alex was just operating at status quo. Nothing personal, sweetie… you just don't rank higher in his thoughts than money or power or political advantage. She lowered her gun and flicked the safety on. She turned and headed towards her kitchen and said over her shoulder, "Go. Just… go. I don't want my apartment to smell like you."

He made a sound behind her, but she would not give in to the urge to turn around. If he set out to kill her, it didn't matter if she was braced or not, anyway. The sound of the door whisking open and then his voice halted her in her tracks.

"Contrary to what you may believe, Agent Scully, I'm 'en ami' – a friend. I would sooner wish my own death than any harm come to you. Alex will only bring you harm." The door gave a soft click and she turned around.

But he was gone.

_**He came to **_with a start. The drug had forced him into an unfortunately already-much-needed sleep, so it was difficult to gauge how long he'd been out. Judging by the slant of filtered light coming into the only window in the room – a window _without_ bars, he made mental note – it was either several hours later the same day, or he'd been out at least twenty-four hours.

Alex attempted to turn and come to a sitting position, but realized he'd been put in some sort of restraints. _So much for the window…_ He lifted his neck through much protest of his sore muscles – _must have some localized bruising at the injection site_ – and struggled to get a bearing on his surroundings. It looked like a hospital room, complete with an orderly sacked out in the only chair in the room. "Hey!" he shouted and was surprised to hear his voice come out in a dry rasp. _Must be slightly dehydrated._ "Wake up, Snow White!"

The orderly came to with a snort and sat bolt upright, blinking and focusing around the room. He finally seemed to fully focus on Krycek. "Whoa… you've been out for a while, Mr. Krycek," he said and lifted himself from the chair. "I don't know what they gave you, but it must have been enough to knock out a large horse, man."

"Where's 'here'?" Krycek asked.

The orderly stretched and scratched at his scalp, "Come on, man… are you shitting me?" He smiled a genuine smile that made Krycek question the guy's sanity. "If you're who I think you are, you already know they don't tell guys like me the details."

He ambled over to the bed and reached for Krycek's wrist, which Krycek drew back as far as the restraint would let him. "Not a chance; I've already been drugged by whoever you work for."

"Relax," the orderly said amicably, "I'm just checkin' your pulse – but if you don't want me to, I won't." He held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Easy, dude – seriously. I'm just the hired help." He pulled the chair over to the bedside and sat down again, "But I _am_ actually a P.A., though." The orderly's – or rather _P.A.'s_ – tone conveyed the slightest hint of pride.

"Well, then you can give me some answers," Krycek grunted with the effort to sidle into a better position, "and maybe the key to these restraints?" he tried.

"Uhm… no can do, bro. I was told to monitor your signs and bring you a bed pan if you asked to…uh, you know, get up." He smiled ruefully at Krycek, leaving him with the same vague impression that the guy wasn't all there.

Krycek tried a different tack, "Okay…well, I'm pretty damn dry, here – I think I'm gonna need some water…" This had the desired affect on the attendant, who immediately jumped from the chair again and walked toward the door.

"Right – of course you'd be thirsty, d'oh! You've only been out for about twenty-two hours." He gave a little knock to the side of his head. "Be right back," he called as he walked out the door.

Krycek mentally ran through the last twenty-four hours; he was sitting in the airport waiting for a flight scheduled to depart at 4:15 on the, he guessed, previous day – November fourteenth, then? He didn't know where he was or how he'd gotten there and had no idea what had happened to his bag, his ticket… or Dana. He remembered trying to tell her to run or go or something… and then nothing.

Except the sound of the Smoker's voice. But was that hallucination…or had Old Scratch really survived… _again_? And how did he know that Krycek and Scully were waiting together in an airport for the same flight. They'd made the plan on the fly at the last possible moment under assumed names… not even the Smoker had resources that all-encompassing to be able to uncover such a rendezvous. He'd have to be psychic or-

_Or he'd have to be tipped off. _There is was, staring him in the face… but he didn't want to acknowledge it; didn't want to believe it. The only two people who knew they'd be on that flight together were Krycek… and Dana.

He felt suddenly very warm and then almost as quickly went completely cold. It was the biggest mistake he'd made in a long time; trusting her. He had fought against all his training, all his instinct the entire time he'd known her to come to a place where he could actually believe that she was an ally – his _only_ ally – in this war that went on quietly while the rest of the world conspicuously lived out their lives.

Alex lay there quietly a moment, letting the knowledge roll over him, through him and then he breathed in and out very deeply. He couldn't blame her. She was honest, and ethical and still believed in Truth, Justice and the American Way. By the time the orderly – _P.A._ – came back in he'd settled himself with the understanding that _if_ she was convinced to cooperate with the Shadow Men, it was only because she believed it was the best possible scenario in a catalogue of bad scenarios.

He wouldn't lay blame at her feet. But he wouldn't go to her anymore, either. It meant nothing good for either of them if they continued to take chances with each other.

"Here's your water, man." The Orderly Dude came back in with a tumbler full of water; he brought it to Krycek's mouth and steadied the straw that swirled around in it so Krycek could take a drink. He drank, trying to keep his gulps to judicious little sips, but he was so thirsty the task was next to impossible.

He finished with a loud sigh and sank back into the pillows, "Thanks, I think that's the second best drink of water I've ever had in my life."

P.A. Dude tilted his head, "Oh, yeah? What was the first best?"

The corner of Krycek's mouth tilted upward, "Once… I was possessed by this woman and ended up locked in a hole for almost a week," he looked at the guy for a moment, and then shook his head, "It's a long story, but-," he forced the grim memory from his mind, "_that_ first drink of water was the best."

The orderly shook his head in sympathy, "Yeah… _man,_" he seemed lost in thought for a moment, then smiled, "Sucks to be done in by a chick, doesn't it?"

Krycek sucked in a long breath and let it out slowly, then said, "Yeah… tell me about it."

**AN: **_I thought I'd been about ready to throw in the towel. This particular block was like being in a maze and simply not seeing the way out. Until… I did. All of a sudden. I credit the Smoker. No, really._

_As always, please enjoy (and leave a review). Solard_


	29. This Love

**Эта Любовь**

"_**This Love"**_

_**The basement door**_ swung open with a soft creak; Mulder stepped through, his arms laden with a teetering box of files. "Gonna have to get some graphite," he muttered as he kicked the door shut behind him. He paused momentarily, glancing over at Scully before continuing on to his desk.

"Doesn't that bother you, Scully?" he asked. The question seemed to startle her; she looked up at him quickly, then away and back again.

"I'm…sorry, Mulder – did you say something?" she asked.

His eyes narrowed at her and he put the stack of folders down on the edge of the desk. "You okay, Scully?" Mulder pulled his chair around his desk and sat down heavily. _Interrogation mode_, she thought. "Something on your mind?" He casually reached over to a file and began leafing through the contents, without really looking at them. _That's right, casual…best not to spook the witness…just let them talk in their own time…_

She almost smiled. She had done a six week rotation in psychiatry, she knew what he was up to; his mode was crude, but his heart was in the right place. And true, she had been off her game…it would take an idiot _not_ to notice…and Mulder was no idiot.

He just wasn't particularly skilled in reading the female mind, is all.

She knew she wouldn't get away with it, but it was worth a shot, "I'm…fine, Mulder."

He looked over at her as his hand hovered over the box, "Scully…_come on_," he clasped his hands together and leaned forward in the chair, "_some_thing is up…aaaand, if you can't talk to me…who _can_ you – no, scratch that." He sat back in his chair and stretched his long legs in front of him – _settling in_, she thought – "Who _will_ you talk to?" he finished.

Pursing her lips, she took a deep breath…she looked at her partner, the guy she'd been assigned to for almost five years ostensibly in order to debunk his work … Whom she'd come to trust more than anyone outside of her family in those five years…and imagined herself spilling it all; the whole sordid ordeal. _Well, see…uh, Mulder…I've been…ah, in communication, you could say, with…ah, well…he's someone you actually know! Actually, he's, ah…he's a former _partner_ of yours…and I mean, at one time, I think you actually thought there might be _hope_ for him at the Bureau…well, ah…What's that? His name? Wait – Mulder, no one said _anything _about Krycek…just ah – no, Mulder you won't be able to _find_ him to kill him because he's ah…he's probably already deep underground-_…

Yeah… not going to happen.

"I'm sorry, Mulder…," she gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile, "I'm…just burning out I guess." Scully took in another deep breath; let it out slowly, "I'm thinking…I'm thinking of taking some personal time, Mulder." She searched his face to gauge his reaction; he looked thoughtful rather than argumentative. That was a good start. "I…haven't taken any vacation since …since I visited my cousin and it's almost Christmas… I just…" she let her voice trail off, hoping he wouldn't prod her for anything else. She wasn't sure she could give it.

Mulder stared at a spot on the floor just in front of her feet as if lost in thought. Without warning he rose quickly from his seat and plunged into the box of files. "Yeah…uh, I think that's a good idea, Scully…" He pulled one out and turned to not quite look at her, "You do that; I'll hold down the fort here."

She looked up at him quickly but he was either avoiding her glance, or he had an insatiable need to scan the open folder in his hands, "I…uhm," she stood up then, too, "I will then." She filled her pockets in silence, picked up her briefcase and slipped her purse over her shoulder. As she approached the door, she said without turning around, "I'll be at my mother's house, Mulder…if you need me."

She walked out without another word.

"_**Dana, dear, I**_ didn't expect to see you until this weekend," her mother's voice was kind but her eyes were tinged with sadness. It had been a long year, waiting and watching through her daughter's illness when the freshness of another daughter's death hadn't quite healed over yet. "This is a lovely surprise…"

Her mother stood to the side and held the door while Scully pulled her bag through the door. She placed a hand on her back and welcomed her for a hug before she even closed the night air out. "This is a lovely surprise…" she murmured into her hair.

"I wanted to get some extra time in, mom…help you out with the dinner prep this year." They left the bag forgotten for the moment in the foyer and went into the kitchen where the smell of coffee made Scully's stomach take notice. "Mmm – smells heavenly – can I have a cup?" she asked lightly. She took a seat at the counter and allowed her mother to mother her for the time being; allowed herself to enjoy the sight of her ambling around the kitchen like an old pro pressed into service after years of retirement. Scully studied her mom's movements in awed silence.

So many years… spent at this counter, in this house…happy and secure in the love and guidance of this woman. So many days and hours and minutes of precious time that she'd looked back on now as a sort of blurred whirlwind of activity the individual moments of which she couldn't begin to recall. She was…_happy._ Her family was a happy family…a normal family with normal problems and such…_mundane_ concerns.

How had their lives spun so psychotically out of control in the span of a few short years?

Her mother turned and placed the cup in front of her and started. "Dana…what's the matter, honey?" Scully realized only then that tears were blopping in front of her on the counter.

"I'm…sorry…Mom – I-" Her mother reached a tissue from some inexplicable 'mom-place' and held it out to her. She took it gratefully and dabbed her eyes, buying time to get herself under control. "My work… Mother – it's… I feel as if it's buried our family under so much suffering… I'm sorry…" but she couldn't continue.

Her mom moved quickly around the counter and pulled Scully into a furious hug, "Dana… I've never told you this…but I used to worry so much about your father when he'd ship out. I'd endure many long months waiting for a letter from him… some word that he was okay and even though he couldn't tell me everything he told me enough to ensure that he was alive and that he'd come back to me… 'come hell or high water' – he'd say."

Her mother's voice had husked and she stroked her hair gently, soothingly. "I always accepted the life and the risks involved…because at sea he was excellent and I was best at loving him and supporting him and this family… I knew that; and I never felt…lacking. Not once."

She pulled back and looked into Scully's eyes, "I had never felt the same about your…what you do." She hesitated and took a deep breathe before going on, "I wanted so much more for you, Dana… you're empathetic and caring and you work through a problem until you, by God, _find the answer._" Her mother smiled that sad-eyed smile, "When your sister died… I saw a piece of you die with her, too. And I worried… I worried about what your work was taking from you, bit by bit. I worried about your …about Fox…and your relationship with him…" Her eyes filled and she stopped. They both sat silently waiting, poised almost.

"I didn't want his fight to become _yours_. I wanted you…to take back yourself…and to find something _better_." She swiped at the tears in her eyes with the back of her hand. "But when I watched you…fighting your disease… with everything you had, Dana, I knew… I _knew_." Her lips twitched at the effort to keep the tears from coming, "You were in your element… you were where you were supposed to be. These people that Fox speaks about, Dana…these enemies… they did that to you…and you…you never gave up. You never wavered – even if it meant that you would die. You _fought back_… and I'm so…I'm so proud of you. And I know that your father would be to…even if he never wanted you to join the bureau."

Her mother stood and sighed heavily, "The truth is, honey…you have become …_you_, through this work of yours. You are excellent at what you do… and I cannot blame you for the consequences – however extraordinary – that you think we've all suffered. You've suffered them, too. So...I am trying to become best at supporting you and what you do." She smiled, "It won't be easy to keep my peace, knowing the dangers of your job…but I won't – I _can't_ blame you for what other people have done. You are not to blame for standing on what is right, Dana."

Scully let what her mother said seep into her; her mind quickly dredged up the moments before Alex disappeared at the airport. She reached for her mother's hand and pressed it gently. "I've hit a rough curve, mom, in…in my personal life." Her mother looked up quickly, suspicious, but she continued, "The situation is …hopeless…. I accept it…I've always accepted it, but I am torturing myself with thoughts – especially now, the holidays – with thoughts of everything that has come to ruin…in our family, in his-," she stopped. "All because of this _work_…that underscores every facet of our lives."

She knew her mother suspected Mulder as a source of her daughter's obvious confusion and Scully made no attempt to disabuse her of the assumption; it just felt good to talk about it, expose it to the light, even in the vaguest of terms. Especially so; she would never fully explain an Alex Krycek to herself, much less to her family. "I thought I could keep a lid on…things…on the situation, but it has recently gone beyond anything I can control…and now…I find myself _blaming_ someone whom I know I cannot truly blame." She looked up, "Everything that has happened…I've brought it on myself."

"Oh, Dana…" her mother reached up and cupped her chin in her hand, "You don't have to _control_ things… you just have steer yourself through them. If this…_situation_… is one that gives you _hope_, that makes life just a bit more bearable…then it shouldn't matter what stands against it. I would think, with what you see every day…well, I can hardly blame you for trying to carve out a bit of happiness in it all…"

Her mother rose from the chair and gave her a reassuring smile over her shoulder, "Besides…the most rewarding relationships usually take the most work, my love…" she winked, "Look at mothers and daughters. Now let's get your case upstairs."

_**Later, as she **_lay in her old room, tangled in the well-worn blankets of her childhood bed unable to sleep, Scully's thoughts drifted inexorably to Alex. She tried to bend her association with Alex to fit her mother's tidy observation about complicated relationships. Even as she formed the arguments in her head, she couldn't escape the truth that any reward they might gain would exact a price neither of them could pay. Rolling over, she fluffed her pillow and prepared herself for a sleepless night.

Her thoughts had crystallized on one point; the next time she crossed paths with Alex Krycek she'd make sure their break was a clean one.


	30. Fooled Again

**Дурачивший Снова**

…_Fooled Again_

_**Krycek glanced around**_ the room, trying to gauge the distance and the time it would take to make a hasty escape through the shifting throng of bodies between him and the door. He wasn't too worried at this point; the party was in full swing and no one seemed overly interested in another half-drunk poser in a pricy suit. His cover was safe for now.

He glanced at the drink in his hand and snorted; how in hell did he get back here, choking down crumbs from the table of _another_ shadowy master? He'd been such an easy target – that was the part that galled him most. For the better part of a decade, he'd been the tool, the _minion_ (as much as the word disgusted him) to a bunch of power-hungry, nameless elitists. Falling under the influence of Hunt had been a complete seduction; his ideals, aspirations and prejudices were so thoroughly understood by the man that the trap was laughably easy to spring. When the blinders finally came off, the pain of betrayal was so deep and cutting that Krycek's violent reaction, likely, was anticipated by the Smoker as well. The whole of it smacked distastefully of manipulation; and Krycek loathed being anyone's puppet.

But here he was, again, subjugating his own objectives in service to another's.

At least this time he'd ostensibly had some choice in the matter: work with us, or the woman gets it. Easy choice, right? _Sure, if he ignored the fact that the woman in question most likely _orchestrated_ the airport sting_. _What was it with Scully and airports, anyway?_ "The Syndicate is dying, Mr. Krycek," they'd told him, "we are the new direction and you either get on board or you get left behind…"

Their tactics for convincing him to 'get on board' were much more forthright than the Smoker's double dealing, and so much more brutal, as was their implied definition of 'left behind.' After each failure to recruit him, they'd promptly beat him to a bloody pulp. As swiftly as each session began it would end, and they'd leave him bruised and bleeding to 'think about it' for a few hours. Krycek was never clear on exactly how long his thinking time lasted; he was too busy passing in and out of consciousness. Inevitably, someone would come in to clean him up and get him sufficiently healed up so he would be ready to readdress his future. The implication was clear that his future (and possibly, Dana's) was rather limited, if he chose to remain on his own.

After what he estimated to be a couple of weeks he lost the will to resist and his choice became crystal clear – anything was better than ending his life via the human punching bag method. Krycek made the only choice a man with a broad survival streak could make – he'd begin serving a new master as soon as his bruised body would allow.

They gave him a week.

He was pretty, they told him; his boyish, handsome face coupled with the sympathy-inducing missing arm could be used in unique and special ways. And if they imposed a quick recovery period, Krycek had to admit that at least they provided their best medical personnel to see him on his way. No expense was spared to repair the damage they'd inflicted to his 'pretty face'; no pharmaceutical was denied him to speed the process. By the end of the specified week, Krycek felt better than he had in years; admittedly, probably due to the nice cocktail of drugs they'd mixed for him, but better in any event and ready to serve.

And they were ready for him. They sent him, with little notice and no time to pack, to Kazakhstan for 'training.'

Training, as he'd come to understand it under his new masters, was unlike anything he'd undergone before -- not during his short stint in the Academy, not in his brief honeymoon with the Syndicate running thug and goon errands -- this was a whole new level of preparation.

Something hinky seemed to suffuse his new situation, a thought which left him feeling almost hysterical. For all that Krycek had seen and done, anything giving him pause at this point was something of a novelty, albeit a scary one.

The Syndicate had ties to the aliens, this much Alex knew. But at best, their tie remained a strained and tenuous connection. If anything, his new masters didn't seem so much connected _with_ as intrinsically _of_ the aliens.

The "new boss" wasn't the same as the "old boss" at all -- if possible, Alex surmised the new Shadow Group to actually _be_ alien.

Of course, if his assumption proved true, then it must follow that the Syndicate operated under misdirection given on purpose by the aliens...and they were totally screwed. The thought brought a grim smile to Krycek's face. They could all go to hell as far as he was concerned.

He didn't plan on going down with them, either.

Krycek shook himself from his thoughts and focused on the restrained debauchery around him. His objective was ridiculously simple, locate the plain but brilliant physicist trying uncomfortably to relax and enjoy a party she didn't really want to attend in the first place. Once he located her, he must introduce himself, make small talk and then maneuver her into a secluded corner, divert her attention and drop the little vial of powder -- currently tucked into his shirt sleeve -- into her drink. Another operative would take over from that point, someone with decidedly _different _expertise than he'd exhibited. Krycek didn't exactly have the _finer _techniques of torture in his skill set.

He spotted his mark in nearly record time. Gently rolling his neck, he pulled his jacket down in back and mentally navigated his approach. Krycek knew no one at the party, and had no fear he'd be made in such an environment. More likely, he would find it difficult to affect the long forgotten niceties of the social set that Karkoff had so thoroughly drilled into his head as a young Kremlin soldier.

Slowly, he wended his way through the crowd, careful to move with little apparent direction. _Nothing to see here, folks...just enjoying the ambiance._ He deftly lifted a champagne flute from the tray of a passing server and sipped. Foul tasting stuff, but if he tilted his head and squinted, he could imagine himself drinking a beer. As he got within a few feet of the Physicist, he set the glass down on the tray of the nearest server.

Krycek waited for a moment and observed the woman. She stood by herself and glanced around the room distractedly. She was either bored or uncomfortable, and judging by her body language, ready to leave. Krycek glanced at her and caught her eye, smiled and nodded. She smiled tightly and looked away self-consciously. He chuckled to himself and shook his head, then moved toward her. She shifted from foot to foot, but didn't move away. He took that as encouragement.

"I know exactly how you feel," he said when he'd reached her. "You're in the middle of a sensitive phase of a project, and feel impositioned because you have to pull yourself away and attend the fund-raiser's party." He allowed that to sink in, smiled and said, "Am I right?"

Her smile loosened the tiniest bit and she glanced down at her hands, "Am I _that _obvious?" she asked.

"Oh, no -- I just recognize the subtle clues." He extended his hand, "I'm Trevor," he said smoothly, "I guess I'm what you'd consider 'the enemy'," he finished with a self-deprecating smile.

She looked shocked for a moment -- caught exposed -- but recovered and smiled fully, "I'm Sondra," she said, "and I don't _really_ think of the money people as the enemy..."

He patted her hand in a conciliatory fashion before he let it go, "Well, I'm sure being on the research end puts you in a rock and a hard place position with the grant makers -- you need them, but the attendant bullshit --," he glanced quickly at her, "Excuse my language," he said apologetically..

"Oh please -- I've said far worse late on a Sunday night in the lab," she said. They shared a laugh and Krycek gestured toward a passing server, "May I get you a drink?" he asked. She glanced at his hand and her eyes widened in surprise before she caught herself and recovered, "Oh, yes...thank you," she fumbled, "are you sure?"

He followed her gaze down to his own inhumanly perfect hand and formed a conciliatory smile, "Don't let it put you off, Sondra -- I lost it fair and square in a poker game," then he winked at her. He turned and glanced around for the server, "I'll be right back,"

Krycek spotted the champagne and made his way through the shifting wall of bodies, nabbed a flute and worked the vial of -- he presumed -- tranquilizer into his hand. He flicked the top open with his thumb as he deftly switched hands and simultaneously emptied the vial into the champagne. By the time he'd returned to Sondra, the vial nestled safely in the tiny watch pocket in his trousers. If she sipped half the champagne in the glass, she'd begin to feel woozy in less than fifteen minutes.

In exactly three minutes, Sondra the Plain Physicist dropped like a stone with no warning, in the middle of the crowded party. Krycek felt panic rise in his throat for the briefest moment, but his instincts kicked in just as fast. He dropped to his knee and said, "Someone, please," and glanced around, "help me get her to a chaise?" Several men rushed to his aid, over careful as they gently moved the fallen woman.

He looked around, making sure that no one paid him any attention and began to carefully remove himself from the scene. As he skirted the curious attendants and caregivers gathered around the woman, he moved toward the door. Just as he neared his escape, one of the men who'd moved her glanced around until he spotted him and pointed in his direction. "You there, sir," he called out, "could you step this way please?"

Krycek took a deep breath, briefly debating a sprint out the door, but quickly decided that come what may the best line of defense was a solid offensive. Besides, retreat was really out of the question as the place was nearly as heavily guarded as Buckingham Palace.

"Yes, of course -- I was just stepping out for a breather," he smiled conciliatorily. "Quite a shock to have someone collapse in front of you," he added.

"I'm sure," the man replied. "Can you tell me, what exactly happened to Ms. Fischer?"

Krycek looked around at the concerned faces and took a deep breath, "Well...she was explaining to me the nature of her field of research, and she just collapsed," he looked apologetically toward the woman, "I'm very sorry, but I've only just met her..."

"No, that's fine, of course -- what I need to know is, did anything out of the ordinary take place," the man searched Krycek's face, "did you notice anything just before she collapsed?" The man took Krycek by the elbow and walked him away from the crowd. "Anything you can tell me about her behavior just before she passed out might be of use in diagnosing her condition Mr. ...?"

"Collins, Trevor Collins," Krycek supplied. He knitted his brow and glanced over toward the woman he'd drugged, "I'm sorry...I can't think of anything out of the ordinary-,"

"Mr. Praetor," the server from whom Krycek had gotten the glass of champagne for Ms. Fischer approached them hesitantly. "May I speak to you, sir," he glanced coldly at Krycek, "_alone_, sir?"

Mr. Praetor made silent apology toward Krycek and followed the server into the hallway. _Think, Alex, think,_ his mind worried him, _you slipped up._ He glanced around the room checking for possible means of escape, but he knew before his eyes even swept half the room his situation was critical. There was no way out.

Praetor entered the room, and the look about his eyes told Krycek all he needed to know about his own situation. "Mr. _Collins_, would you be so kind as to assist me in getting Ms Fischer to a more comfortable room?" he turned away before Krycek could answer and addressed the rest of the party, "Please, everyone, continue to enjoy yourselves," and then turned a cold glance on Krycek as he gestured for him to exit the room before him.

Once in the hall, all pretense of formal congeniality dropped from his manner. "How dare you come into my home and perpetrate such a bold and ill-thought out maneuver." His tone made clear that argument was futile, so Krycek maintained his silence. "I don't know who you are or who you work for, but you are about to find out exactly who I am." He picked up the phone in the hallway, said, "Come, immediately," and within forty-five seconds a hulking wall of human granite padded softly down the hallway toward them.

_Shit. _"Yes, sir?" the guard asked in a voice so soft Krycek had to strain to hear him.

"Escort Mr. Collins to the security room and detain him until authorities arrive." Mr. Praetor turned toward Krycek, "Pray she wakes up with no ill effects, Mr. Collins." He turned and strode back to the ballroom door, "For your _own _sake," and disappeared quickly through the door.

The guard turned toward Krycek and one corner of his mouth tilted up, he studied Krycek then indicated the direction from which he'd come with a tilt of his head. "After you," he said in the same low voice. Very controlled...very deadly. Krycek moved without protest down the hall, readying himself for a blow to the back of his head. He was genuinely surprised to enter the security room without so much as a slight shove at his back.

As soon as the door closed softly behind them, Hulk said, "Sit," and indicated a reasonably comfortable office chair with a wave of his hand. He took another chair situated at a desk in front of a bank of security monitors and swiveled to face him, regarding him silently.

Krycek took the opportunity to mentally run a check list of the entire objective, looking for any moment wherein he'd exposed himself or slipped up. He'd worked on the vial maneuver for weeks, perfecting the switch, removing the lid, pocketing the vial. Upon reflection he remained convinced the server could not have detected his maneuver. He was busied balancing the tray of champagne and attending to the guests. Krycek supposed it possible another guest might have witnessed his actions...but then, why tell the server, and not Mr. Praetor himself?

No... This had to be a set up. It was the only explanation that made sense.

Hulk shifted slightly and murmured something unintelligible into his lapel, then stood in a fluid motion that juxtaposed oddly with his massive size. "Come with me," he said quietly, "your transport has arrived." Krycek obeyed without hesitation.

He followed Hulk out the door and into another dimly lit hallway, into a tastefully decorated foyer where he opened the palatial front doors and stood waiting. Krycek glanced up at him in question and Hulk nodded his head toward a luminous black stretch limo with very dark windows idling in the circular drive on the other side of the portico. "Have a safe trip," Hulk said as he pushed the oversized doors closed with a soft thud.

Krycek again thought briefly of taking off in a sprint, see how far he could get, but decided to play through instead. As he made his way to the sleek ride the back door opened and he caught a glimpse of a thin, venous hand with nearly translucent skin stretched over the finely outlined bones.

"Hello, my dear boy," a familiar voice greeted him from the shadowy interior, "What have you got yourself into this time?"

~End Chapter 29~

_AN: Still here, plugging away slowly. Thank you for reading those who are; I hope you enjoy this latest installment._


	31. Turnabout

**поворачивать**

_turnabout_

_**"How'd you find**_ me?" Krycek asked quietly as the limo powered through a long curve. The old man was biding his time in silence, rendering the first twenty minute leg of the journey nearly intolerable. Boredom rather than curiosity spurred Krycek to end the stalemate.

"You assume I _lost_ you in the first place, Alex." His weathered face betrayed a sly smile, "You assume too much, it was always your greatest asset." He patted Krycek on the arm, "And also your greatest weakness." They continued in unbroken quietude for a few more minutes and then the old man gestured out the window, "This used to be one of my properties, all of it," his hand marked the condensation on the window in light strokes as he spoke, "Praetor needed a place to disappear...." he said as he glanced back at Krycek with a knowing look in his eye.

"Well, aren't you the philanthropist," Krycek could not conceal the slight edge of irritation he felt at, once again, finding someone behind 'the curtain' pulling the levers on him.

The old man erupted into an uncharacteristic fit of laughter, "You're angry with me," he stated what Krycek thought to be ludicrously obvious. "I must apologize for the drama attending your recent incarceration," his face grew somber; "I had no wish for you to have suffered so."

"What the hell are you talking about, Roth?" Krycek asked. He studied the other man's face, "Did you set this up?"

Roth glanced at his gloved hands folded in his lap and then at Krycek, "We knew you had been taken," he sighed, "but we were forced to bide our time until they deployed you before we might hope to determine your location."

"Who's 'they'?" Krycek asked. Roth remained silent so Krycek grabbed his impeccably pressed shirt collar and twisted until the man's neck was pinched, "_Somebody_ better start giving answers Roth; I'm becoming a very impatient man..."

"_A-le-x,_" Roth's face had begun to darken, "it... wasn't...._us..._"

Krycek let go abruptly, allowing Roth to get his breathing under control. He punched the back of the seat repeatedly until his knuckles began to bleed. Roth remained quiet, his face registering neither shock nor fear. When Krycek quieted, Roth reached up and adjusted his shirt collar, "Alex, you were born into this war, to serve it," he cleared his throat and brushed imaginary lint from his trouser leg, "you had no choice in the matter -- your father made quite sure of that."

Krycek glanced sharply at him then turned away. "Don't refer to him as my father," Krycek glanced out the window, "_my_ father died in Mezhgorye fifteen years ago."

"Hunt was quite busy when you were conceived, Alex," Roth again cleared his throat, "he had your mother under his thrall, as well as a few others..."

"I don't care to know the reproductive habits of that son of a bitch," Krycek turned to Roth, "knowing that he's the source of one half of my genetic make-up is _enough_ of a mind-fuck..."

"The reproductive habits of that... _son of a bitch_ should be of great interest to you Alex," Roth turned to look out the window, "considering to _whom _his voracious reproductive habits connects you..."

"With all due respect, sir, there's not a soul involved in all this steaming pile of crap to whom any connection whatsoever could be of any interest to me-,"

"And if I told you that another of Hunt's ambitious... _conquests_ happened to be Agent Mulder's mother?" Roth's eyes reflected the light of the passing cars as he watched Krycek.

Krycek searched the old man's face. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I think you _know_ why," Roth responded. He turned and gazed out the side window, "Hunt knew the end was inevitable," he turned back toward Krycek, "perhaps he wished to insure a _part _of him remained behind should he perish."

Krycek snorted, "He has no legacy in me." He turned away, looking out the window while not really seeing the passing scenery. "I fight for myself."

"He's not a good man, Alex, nor is he an honorable one, but he chose you out of what little sense of familial feelings he possesses," Roth smiled sadly, "you were, once upon a time, one of the only people in this world he gave a damn about."

Krycek reflected upon the last time he'd had contact with Hunt and snorted. It would be a cold day in hell before he'd soften to any supposed familial connection to the old bastard. "Let's let bygones be just that, Mr. Roth. I feel more allegiance to your driver than I ever will for Hunt..." Krycek let his comment ride for a moment and then turned toward Roth, "I suppose you have a reason for bringing this up?" he asked. "For that matter," he turned away again, "I believe I missed the part where you explained how you just _happened_ to stumble upon me at just the right time?"

Roth's mouth twitched, "My people had to wait until you surfaced on the grid, Alex, before we could hope to locate you." His brow contracted, "Whoever took you, they are good...and they are not affiliated with the Syndicate."

Krycek thought about that for a moment. It didn't make any sense, anytime anyone had made him an offer he couldn't refuse, the source of the offer invariably turned out to be Syndicate related. "What grid? Don't tell me all you shadowy syndicate types operate on a vast network..." he asked.

Roth snorted, "No, my boy, nothing akin to that..." He pursed his lips for a moment, "Think Russia and the U.S. during _detente_ - a cabal of very suspicious power brokers eyeing one another with their fingers on 'the button'," he replied.

"Well, that makes a nice bedtime story, Mr. Roth, but it still doesn't explain _how_ your people were able to locate me..." Krycek waited.

"Perhaps the details should remain a mystery, Alex." Roth said.

"Perhaps you should, then, kiss my ass and drop me at the nearest farmhouse. I'm passed tired of this, Roth -- I want my life," he snorted, "I'd say 'back' but I don't think I ever had it in the first place."

Roth studied Alex for a moment and then turned to look out the window again. "We found you by a process of elimination, Alex," Roth sighed heavily, "In truth, we 'got lucky'."

Alex turned away, watching the passing scenery without registering anything. They remained quiet, both lost in their thoughts. Finally, Alex said, "It's never going to end, is it?" He snorted softly, "Until I'm dead."

Roth reached over and lightly patted his hand, "For us both, my boy, for us both."

**_Roth replied simply, _**'Norwalk' when Alex asked him their location. _Connecticut; they must have been driving longer than he thought. _The older man prefered he didn't know Alex's exact location; he left him in a quiet, well-lit section of the city and pressed into his hand a business card cut from high end paper with one phone number printed in expensive raised ink. Alex didn't look back as he exited the limo, stopping only long enough to say, "Thanks" before he shut the door and took off into the night.

Alex counted his footsteps as he paced the sidewalk and searched for a non-descript hotel to stay for the night. He needed some sleep and a fresh perspective. After a night of the first he'd start working on the second.

At the second block, Alex found what he was looking for, an unremarkable, small-chain hotel that accepted cash with no I.D. He located his room, fumbled the key in the lock and swung the door into the narrow entry, sweeping the room quickly as a matter of habit rather than any real sense of danger. _Clean_.

He shuffled to the bed and fell heavily into the firm but comfortable mattress. He was asleep inside of a minute.

He had no sense of the time when he heard the familiar scraping of a rake in the lock and his senses tuned immediately. Instinctively he reached to his side for the gun he realized he wasn't carrying due to the constraints of the previous nights' OP at Praetor's. He slid off the bed carefully so as not to disturb the springs and waited for his eyes to adjust in the darkness then searched the room for a weapon. The bedside lamp looked to be the only thing with enough heft to do any kind of damage. With luck, it wouldn't be bolted to the bedside table. Alex leaned carefully, judging the scrapings in the lock for available time and grasped the lamp. _Bolted; shit._

Alex crouched next to the bed and mentally prepared himself for the coming confrontation. After another thirty seconds, the door inched open and light from the corridor sliced through the room's darkness. Small figure, dressed in dark clothing, very compressed, very quiet movements; a professional. He watched transfixed by the spare motion of his intruder. The figure latched the door, turned back to the room and paused before advancing toward the bed.

"I want to know why you ditched me in the airport, Alex," he heard the voice, so real, so close and realized with a start that he knew it was her before she even spoke.

He stood slowly, arms slightly raised in surrender he supposed, because what else could he do where she was involved? "Sorry about that," he affected nonchalance, "I had a very pressing counter-offer."

She chuckled softly and ordered, "Get on the bed -- slowly, please," and his mind started working around something, but he obeyed, because what else could he do when she was the one asking? He balanced a knee on the edge and turned and eased himself into a prone position. Once he was situated he placed his arms slowly at his sides. She watched in silence the entire time.

His breath picked up as she joined him on the bed and made her way smoothly to rest on top of him. It was at that point he noticed she had her Sig in her right hand. "What are you here for, my love?" he asked. She raised the Sig to his temple balancing her weight and pinning his chest with her forearm, "I'm going to kill you, Alex," she said matter-of-fact. The knowledge didn't shock him; he expected it.

"I'm not worth the price, Dana," he said. "You'll lose everything - your family, your career..."

She stared at him, a sad smile tilting the corners of her mouth, "Doesn't matter," she breathed, "I'm already dead." She kissed him then, and he heard the click of the trigger as he squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the impact of the bullet.

His eyes snapped open and he turned sharply toward the window, noticed the morning light slicing through the break in the drapes. _A dream_. Always, only a dream.

But a new thought, too; one that hadn't occurred to him until now.

Had they gotten to her?

~End Chapter 30~

_AN: I'm approaching the end. Obviously, my energies are flagging; I'm sorry for that. This story is like a thorn in my palm – not fatal, but a constant irritant. I want it to be done, but still only have a vague idea how to manipulate it to the end. I'm thankful for anyone who is still even mildly interested in this, and sorry for any irritation the long waits may have caused. I'm attempting to stay within the actual show timeline – this is probably my best asset, but also my worst hindrance too. Ironic. And a bit like Scully to Krycek and Krycek to Scully, I suppose. So, oddly fitting__._


	32. You're Tired My Love

Вы утомлены моя влюбленность

_"You're Tired My Love"_

**_The call came_**in the middle of the night, the way most calls of the type come. She put the phone to her ear and answered in as alert a manner as she could manage, "Scully."

"You awake, Scully?" _Mulder. _She rolled to check her clock. _3:00 a.m. Nice._

"Yeah, Mulder," she suppressed a yawn, "I'm awake." _Now_. "What've you got?" she asked.

She heard the soft ruffle of movement underscoring his voice, "I'm thinking about something Modell said," he grunted, _probably putting on his running shoes_, "during the _first_ case."

The 'Pusher' had become very personal for Mulder, in Scully's privately-held opinion. She suspected that he harbored some unresolved issues with Robert Patrick Modell. A man who'd had an unsuccessful run in the military, applied to the FBI but failed the Psych Eval, and ended his life as a self-styled psychological mercenary possibly hit too close to home for his comfort.

Not hard to imagine that when Mulder looked at Modell, he saw a fun-house mirror reflection of himself. Especially so, since his twin sister brought on Pusher, part two.

"Mulder…we put Bowman to bed, last week," she suppressed another yawn, "I admit, the whole case was disturb-,"

"No, it's not the weird-factor, Scully," he said, "It's…uh, more of a _personal_ nature."

She sat up in bed and adjusted her pillows, cradling her phone with her chin, "Okay, I'm listening," she took a sip of water and stretched her neck. "Go ahead."

"His sister popping up – his _twin _sister…with the same, uhm, 'gift' got me to thinking. I've been looking through the case file, and I can't find it, but I made a note in my pad," she could hear him flipping through his notebook, "he said, 'It's in you, now.'"

He was quiet for a long moment and Scully realized he needed her to comment. "Well…Mulder, think about it…" she cleared her throat, "he told us, several times…?" She hoped he'd make the connection.

"What, Scully? What was he trying to tell me?"

She tried to cover her frustration, "He was _pushing_ you Mulder, come on…"

"To do what?" He sighed, "I mean – 'it's in you now' – what the hell was he attempting to _push?_ Kinky sex?" He chuckled but she could hear his own contained frustration.

Scully groaned, "Maybe? I dunno… what did you two talk about in that hallway?"

"Nothing of consequence…he made oblique references, we chased down his non-leads…" he trailed off. "You know the drill."

"Yeah." She felt hungry. And irritated. "Maybe he was trying a different tactic…to manipulate you. Make you think he'd put the – you know, the _ability_ in you?" she tried.

He blew out heavily, "Yeah – you know what? Never mind…You're right." She could hear him flop back heavily on his _couch? Bed?_ She didn't know where he was sleeping these days… "Unless…" he hesitated.

"What?"

"Do you feel the inexplicable urge to take off all your clothes and come over here?" he asked.

"Good night, Mulder.

He laughed quietly, "Good night, Scully."

**_Mulder was on _**to something, but Scully kept that knowledge to herself. Several of their most recent cases had one thing in common which, she was sure, Mulder suspected…but until she'd had a chance to suss out the scientific aspect first she didn't want to add fuel to his fervor.

Modell, granted, was a two year old case, but with the discovery of his twin sister – and her twin ability – she needed to approach it with new eyes. Searching through their notes, piecing together the threads…painstaking work. Work for which she was exceedingly grateful.

She was still grieving the loss of a daughter she didn't know she had and, attached to that loss, the knowledge that someone 'out there' had used her extracted ova to bring Emily – and possibly others – into this world. All the questions surrounding the unspeakable invasion of her – what? Her privacy? Her reproductive organs? Her heart and soul? – such as _How many others besides Emily? Why? And, who was the _paternal _donor?_

That last one always, irrationally, made her think of Alex. And invariably she'd blush and find herself wondering where he was, what had happened to him …or when he would contact her again.

**_Krycek fingered the_** raised ink of the expensive business card. Coming to a decision he stuck the card between his lips and fished his phone from his pocket. Dialing quickly – before he could change his mind – he put the phone to his ear and swore softly. _What makes you think you can trust Roth any more than the rest of them?_

And an image came to mind – from sometime in the last year; Alex waiting in the shadow of the driver's seat while the two higher ups whispered their terse conversation next to the fence penning the expensive horses at Roth's upstate Virginia compound. One of Roth's many grandchildren skipped from the house toward the fence and the man abruptly stopped speaking, turned and welcomed her with open arms, rapture clearly evident in every line of his face.

_He had family. A lot of family._

Krycek suspected that a man with that much to lose would risk everything to protect those he loved. Even his own life.

"Roth." The man's clipped accent lent an air of refinement otherwise missing from the crisp greeting.

"I'm…confused," Krycek paused and glanced up to make sure his target was still stationary, "What makes a man pulling the strings on the whole world take such chances on a handicapped, disgraced lackey with a hefty price on his head?"

Roth muffled the mouthpiece of the phone and a few moments later Krycek heard a door close and Roth breathed a sigh, "Ah, Alex…I have been eager to hear from you."

"Awww, that's touching, Roth, really…" his target remained engrossed in paperwork, completely unaware of any surveillance. _Sloppy_, Krycek thought. "So…I'm assuming you have some things on your mind."

A chuckle, "Yes…I suppose you could say that."

Krycek took a deep breath, "Well, I suppose you could say that I do, as well."

"Suppose two people in a…_situation_…were to compare what they had on their minds, Alex?"

Alex sucked in a breath, "Knowledge is power, Roth…" he said.

"Yes…yes it is, my boy."

Krycek thought a moment. He was running out of options. "Give me the dubya's and I'll be there," he said.

"I have long wanted to see your celebrated property…it is still secure?" Roth asked.

"Oh, yeah; tighter than anything your people have," _only…_ "Not for this meeting, though. Maybe when I'm sure you're…retired." His target was clearing out, "I'll invite you out for a beer, we'll shoot the shit…"

"Well, then…you remember the shipyard?"

"Sure, sure – time?" His target was finishing a coffee and staring absently out the window. _No hurry, then._

"Tomorrow, Alex, 9 a.m. We cannot sit on our hands this time…"

He made a mental note of the appointment. "Done. And, Roth?"

"Yes, Alex?"

"Watch your back…I'm not convinced they aren't tracking me." He glanced up at his target again and she was on the move, "You're as good as dead if they find out you're talking to me." Krycek snapped his phone closed and got to his feet. Tossing some bills on the table, he stalled and drained the last of his coffee. Keeping his target in his peripheral, he moved out into the gathering dusk.

**_Someone was following_** her. She didn't _know_ it so much as _sense _it. The prickle up the back of her neck…the shiver threatening to shake her spine… Somewhere in the vicinity, someone was stalking her quietly. Her training kicked in as she settled her bill and moved on foot to her apartment. She'd be able to subdue them if she could double back and catch them by surprise.

But first she would have to _identify_ them.

The lighting didn't help – winter would be a memory in a few weeks but sundown still came early. She took two unnecessary left turns and then stepped into a small side street, flattening herself against the rough brick. From her vantage, she had a narrow wedge of perspective. Forcing her breathing to quiet, she stilled herself and waited.

**_Alex allowed himself_** to be led down what he knew to be a couple of wrong turns. If she was trying out some new moves he was all for it. It had been a long time since he'd played a good game. He stopped at the mouth of the small side street and feigned a search, glancing uncertainly up one way and down the other.

He felt her gun at his back very soon after and she warned him in a taut voice, "Keep quiet and play nice," so he allowed himself to be led into the alleyway.

_Unbelievable, _he thought, _that she hasn't figured it out yet._

"Turn aroun-"

He turned and faced her, effectively stifling the end consonant of her word. "Alex?" Her face was a storm of conflicting expressions. "What…I – why… Are you _tailing_ me?"

"Has it been _that_ long, Dana…that you didn't even know it was me? I mean, come on…it's been what? Two months, tops."_ Closer to one, actually, now that he thought about it. _

She ignored him, "I repeat, why are you following me?"

Cocking an eyebrow at her, he studied her face. _Searching for clues_. "I needed to see for myself that you were okay."

Her lips drew to a thin line, "I'm _fine_." She crossed her arms over her chest and stared him down. "How…I mean, where – oh for the love of pete." She reached out and wrapped her arms around him tightly. Muffled into his chest she said, "I'm glad you're alive, you double crossing son of a bitch."

Alex wrapped his arm around her and tried to remember the day in the airport. "You didn't have anything to do with it…did you?" It wasn't a question anymore.

He felt her stiffen and heard her snort, "God. Would you give that _up_, please. I'm in far too deeply to do anything but kill you myself, Alex." She pulled abruptly away and he noticed her swipe at her cheek with the back of her hand. "If you can't trust me at this point, I don't know what else to do…"

"I do trust you."

She looked back up at him, her eyes blazing, "Then _act_ like it, dammit!" She threw her hands up in the air, "So help me God, Alex…the _first_ thing you should have done is contact me!" Out of nowhere she swung – _hard_ – at him and he reached up and caught her fist in the air.

"Hey!" he stifled the shout, "Calm down, Dana – shit!" She'd swung at him with her other hand before he could– well, he didn't really _have_ another hand to catch it – and caught him on the chin. He pressed her thumb back to immobilize her enough to get his arm around her and pulled her to him.

"Let – me – go!" she struggled against him.

"Stop hitting and I'll let you go." He'd pulled the prosthetic around, holding onto the wrist of it and held her tight, sweating as she bucked against him.

She continued to fight and brought her leg up to kick, but he was quicker and looped his leg around hers in mid-air. "Oh, no – I'm not falling for that one…" he grunted. The momentum, unfortunately, was off and brought them both to the ground. He landed with a thud, her on top of him. She stilled almost immediately.

They lay there, both breathing heavily and she sort of…melded into him. "Are you done?" he asked.

Scully took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "Yes," she said.

He struggled to sitting, her still clamped to his chest, then – tentatively – he let go. She quickly shoved off his lap and stood unsteadily to lean against the wall. He stayed put. They stared at each other a moment. "What was that for?" he asked, rubbing his chin.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm _angry_, Alex."

"Yeah…kind of got that." He leaned to the side and pushed himself to standing and studied her for a moment, making a show of dusting his hands. "You look good," he said.

She turned without saying anything and picked up her bag. When she faced him again, her expression was unreadable. "It's been a hard month," was all she offered.

He took a step toward her and she countered back, "Don't – just," and she swiped a hand over her forehead, "give me a sec, okay?"

Alex stopped and held up his hands, "If I had it to give…"

She looked at him sharply. "What does that mean?"

"That's one thing you and I don't have, Dana – time." He leaned back against the brick and reached up and rubbed at what was left of his arm. His appendage chafed him from the fight. "Tell me."

The expression on her face shifted; almost undetectably except for her trembling lip. "They made a child from-" her voice broke slightly, "from my… from _me_."

Once again, he had to fight the urge to pull her to him and keep the distance between them. He would let her uncoil – if she would – in her own time. "How'd you find out?" he asked.

The rise and fall of her chest picked up, "A case." She shifted closer to him. He watched her breathing pick up and the almost-step toward him, transfixed. He didn't move. "A little girl – Emily –" she looked down at her hands white-knuckled around the handle of her bag. When she looked back up, the dam broke and she had let the tears fall, "She's dead."

Something loosened in his chest and he shoved away from the wall and pulled her into him. She resisted but he just rode it out until he could feel her yield to him. He tucked her into his side and rested his chin on her head. They stood like that until her shaking subsided. "I'm …sorry, Alex," her breath hitched, "I…didn't know her… I shouldn't-"

"Sshhh," he put his finger to her lips, "you're right to feel the loss." He trailed his finger over her lips and traced it up her cheek, brushed at the tears there and brought his hand around to cradle her head. The light played off the collected tears on her eyelashes as she searched his eyes. He bent and touched his lips to hers, "I'm sorry…" he whispered into her mouth. He trailed his lips lightly over her jaw and up to her ear, "Sshhh," he kissed her lobe, "_Pust' zemlya yey budet pukhom, Danushka_," he whispered.

Dana slipped her arms around his waist and gripped him tightly. They stood like that for a long time in the alley. It was the only comfort Alex had to give.

Finally, she let go of him and placed her hands on his chest and rested her forehead on his chin. "You must be tired… are you…tired?" she asked.

He chuckled softly, "Do I look that done in?"

She allowed a small smile, "You look like crap, Krycek." She pushed lightly at his chest and turned, snaking her arm through his. He let her lead him toward the mouth of the alley where he stopped and searched the street before walking out. She smiled up at him, "Old assassins never die, eh?"

"From your mouth to God's ear, Dana…"

**_He studied her _**profileas she moved about the kitchen from his seat at her table. _I want her…_this…_quiet, just us…no conspiracy, no running… _and a pang hit him deep in his gut at the irrational thought.

She glanced his way and smiled as she finished washing something in the sink, "I haven't much in the way of groceries, but I was able to salvage some green stuff…" He got up and made his way over to her. He stopped at the threshold and leaned against the doorframe.

"Cooking for me to keep me out of your bed?" Her lips parted and her brow shot up and Alex immediately regretted the remark. He dropped his gaze, "I'm sorry – that was…uh, that was …not what I'd intended to say…"

"You didn't follow me for sex, Alex…" she set the lettuce down, wiping her hands on the towel as she moved toward him. "If you'd primarily wanted sex…" she threaded her arms around his waist and looked up at him, "you'd have just picked the lock on my door and waited until I got home."

He felt the corner of his mouth tilt slightly, "True." _He _didn't _primarily want sex…not anymore. She'd made him want more, steadily, relentlessly…weaving herself into every bit of him._ "Not that I'd resist if you pressed me…"

She cocked an eyebrow and pushed her hip lightly into his groin, "Like this?" she asked.

"Higher." His breath hitched at the inevitable reaction to her moving against him. He circled her with his arm but otherwise let her take the lead. She moved her hips in a tantalizingly slow dance. "Now lower," he breathed an almost-laugh, "now higher…"

"You know…" she pulled away and took his hand, led him to her couch, "I had decided I was going to make a clean break from you…"

He snorted, "Yeah…I'd come to the same conclusion."

"I was going to just," she waved her hand briefly, "walk away from you in the alley."

He studied her a moment, brought his hand up to her chin and traced the line of her jaw, "I can't…Dana. I can't walk away from you." He raked his fingers through her hair and cradled her behind the ear, "Though I should. We're both dead if I don't."

"We're both dead regardless of what we do, Alex." She pulled him into a soft kiss, pulled back and looked into his eyes, "We were marked the moment they involved us."

Her proximity and the sudden need driving through him removed the last of his restraint. He turned to pull her beneath him as she worked to remove her pants and with trembling fingers helped him undo his. They hesitated only a moment, whispering nonsense to each other, before he pushed himself into her, exultant in her readiness for him. They moved together in silence, the only sounds their ragged breath and the lazy traffic sounds reaching them in muted tones. He was close and knew she was too. Wanting to burn this into his mind, he opened his eyes. Hers were already intently focused on his. The expression broke him. "Dana… _Ya vlyubilsya v tyebya…_" The shock of saying it – even in a language she didn't understand – propelled his body into a wild climax.

He shuddered violently as he came inside her. She cried out simultaneously and bucked into him; he could feel the mad thumping of her heart against his chest as she clung to him, humming like live wire. They lay there for long moments until their breathing steadied.

"This is it, isn't it?" she asked finally. "You wouldn't have said it if this wasn't the last time."

Alex relaxed into her and rested his head on her breast. He didn't want to voice what she already knew. "You've picked up some Russian?" he said, instead.

"Nemnogo…" Her mouth lifted in a hint of a smirk. She stroked his hair and he allowed himself the indulgence of a few moments of denial. "I never fooled myself, Alex…I knew _this_," and she gestured between them, "was defiance. Resistance, if you will."

"Not for me, Dana…" he reluctantly pushed himself up. "It's been surrender…from the start."

Once he'd moved over a bit, she pulled her pants back up and sat for a moment, absently picking at the crease. "Something's happening, isn't it?" she asked.

He looked down, pretending to struggle with the catch on his jeans to avoid her searching look, "More of the same, really." When he looked back up she had turned her head and stared out the window.

"I'm scared, Alex," she said.

He moved his hand over her arm, "I know, Dana…but you will be fine – they aren't-"

"No," she turned back to face him, "I'm not afraid of _them_…I'm scared because I'm…I'm starting to believe." She looked away, embarrassed.

Before he could help it, he chuckled, "Oh…Dana, love – that just proves how rational you _are_."

She favored him a wan smile, "Thank you – for what it's worth."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell, dialed a number without comment and placed it to his ear. She looked at him with a question on her lips when her phone's ringing stopped her. He pulled at her wrist as she started to get it, keeping her on the couch. His eyebrow raised.

"Hey…this is the newest, subject to change without notice. As long as you don't change yours, I'll find you." He clicked his phone shut, "There," he said, "Now you have my current number." He leaned over and kissed her deeply for a moment, then pulled back and stood. She followed him up and placed her hand on his arm. "It's not much...but it's all I've got."

He walked to her door and let himself out. He didn't look back.

~End, Chapter 31~

**_AN: _**_I refuse to make any kind of pronouncements with this thing, because I don't like making promises I can't keep. But – (a big but) – I think I'm back on track. I'm probably going to do some time skips and jumps, as…well I don't want to go down in history as having the loooongest story in fanfiction - dot - net's existence. Thank you, to those of you who are still reading and reviewing. You may be few in number, but that just makes it easier for me to give you a group {{hug}}. _

_~Solard_

Oh, and Hey! Looky – more bad Russian!

_Pust' zemlya yey budet pukhom_ (Пусть земля ей будет пухом): "May the earth be soft for her"

_Ya vlyubilsya v tyebya _(Я влюбился в тебя) (GASP!! ): "I've fallen in love with you."

(Did you SEE that? I tried to keep him from saying it…but he would NOT take my advice. He just did it, anyway.)


End file.
